The Deceptive and The Deceived: The 44th Hunger Games
by FireflyLlama
Summary: The tributes have been becoming increasingly intelligent. They've been figuring out the way arenas work and manipulating them. The Capitol do not like this at all. And now they will show the tributes that intelligence does not always win the Hunger Games... SYOT CLOSED.
1. Prologue

**A/N- Hi everyone and welcome to my new SYOT! This is my second one, my first being Fear Lies Within (if you haven't read it then please do!), and I am really excited to get this one started. Unlike my first SYOT, I have decided to write a prologue that features the Head Gamemaker and President just before the 44th Games...**

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Walking down the corridor with the over-polished floor tiles and scarcely decorated walls, Aquila Vesta was feeling substantially anxious about her meeting with the President. She, of course, had met Panem's leader many times before, but today was a little different. Not only was it a private meeting between the two, but it was in fact a meeting of much importance, so to speak, and because of this, the over-confident Aquila felt tiny flutters of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Nerves were for children, Aquila had always taught herself, but then again she never really had much of a childhood to really experience nervousness, so maybe she could be forgiven to experience them now.

The double doors with a crested gold 'P' for President stood at the end of the corridor. Echoes of shoe heels tapping the floor bounced from the walls, ringing in Aquila's ears like an alarm. She was aware that the heels of her shoes were much higher than most of her others and it was a risk to wear them today in case she stumbled in front of the President, but she had always liked taking risks. It was a risk that had gotten her the job of Head Gamemaker, the first ever female as well! Upon remembering that she was the first of her kind, Aquila couldn't help but crack a sly smile as she tapped her bony knuckles on the door of the President's main office.

A few seconds passed after the knock before a reply came drifting from under the door and through the keyhole. The deep and ever so superior voice told Aquila that she could enter, so she turned the gold handle and pushed open the door.

The first thing that Aquila noticed upon entering the room was the incredible heat that washed over her entire body. She knew that the President despised the cold, but maybe this was taking things to the extreme. It was summer for crying out loud! Yet Aquila refrained from passing a comment on the heat and instead approached the large mahogany desk that stood central in the room. The heels of her shoes were beginning to sink a little into the carpet as she stood before the President.

"Good afternoon, President Snow." Aquila addressed her superior with clarity.

"And to you, Aquila." The President always seemed to call Aquila by her first name and not 'Miss Vesta' as she would have expected him to. It didn't particularly bother Aquila much, as she was quite fond of her name, but it seemed almost improper and impolite, and if it was anyone else addressing her in this way then she would have corrected them. Alas, it was the President speaking to her in this way, so she could hardly correct someone who had more power than all of the Districts put together.

"Are you well?" Aquila asked, making sure she sounded as polite as she could. She needed to keep on good terms with the President if she was going to return for this job next year.

"Yes, I am well." President Snow answered calmly. "And yourself?"

"I'm very well, thank you." Aquila said. "May I…may I take a seat?"

"No, I'd rather you stand in those incredibly high shoes and develop a strain in the back of your legs."

Aquila said nothing, just looked blankly towards the President.

"I am only humouring you, Aquila." President Snow said. "You are welcome to take a seat."

Feeling a small ripple of relief, Aquila sat herself down on the large brown leather chair opposite the President. Sitting down made Aquila seem a little more comfortable as she felt less tall and lanky, but the heat still irritated her. From the corner of her eye she could see the source of this heat: a large marble fireplace with a ferocious fire roaring in its heart. The flames were practically leaping from the fireplace, threatening to lick the arms of Aquila, and the heat was so intense that she began to fear that her make-up was melting down her face. It wasn't, but Aquila still felt extremely conscious of the layers of powders that sat upon her skin.

"So, it is that time of year again." President Snow began. "Firstly, let me congratulate you on your promotion. It must be nice to be the one giving orders rather than obeying them."

"Yes, I will certainly enjoy it." Aquila said. "I had always aimed to be more than just a Gamemaker."

"And now you are Head Gamemaker. The first female we've ever had, as well." He said.

"Yes, that was quite a surprise."

President Snow linked his fingers together. "But you were the best candidate this year and to be honest with you, I think we needed a change. Some of the males were…let's just say predictable. And I do not like predictable."

"Nor do I." Aquila agreed.

"Yes, which brings our conversation to this year's Hunger Games." He said. "Take a look at this."

At that moment, a large screen lifted from the wall and swivelled to face the two people. It was blank for a few seconds, then a film began to play. Aquila watched with observant eyes as clips of past Games played on the screen. Each clip was short, some only a couple of seconds long. One clip was of last year's Victor using the river as a dam to release a tidal wave of water that drowned most of his remaining opponents. Another was from the year before that, of a girl using a force field to repel small rocks towards the Career pack.

The film ended and the screen went black, before sliding back into the wall. Aquila turned to the President, whose face had a questioning look upon it.

"What did you notice about those clips?" He asked her.

"They were all from the past few years of Hunger Games." Aquila replied hopefully.

"Yes, but what else did you notice?" Snow pushed.

Aquila bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember exactly what she just saw. Sorting through the various clips in her head, she finally came up with an answer.

"All the tributes were using the arena against other tributes."

"Precisely." President Snow said. "All of those tributes had manipulated what we had put as obstacles into useful weapons. And do we like that?"

Aquila shook her head.

"Good girl." He said. "Why do you think they did that? Why did we not see much of this _manipulation_ in earlier Games? Why only has it happened in more recent Games?"

"Um… The Gamemakers have been losing ideas recently?" Aquila guessed.

"Not quite, the arenas haven't been short of creativity." He said. "Any other guesses?"

Aquila frowned. "I'm afraid not…"

"Then let me enlighten you." President Snow said, placing his pale hands on the desk in front. "Intelligence. The tributes have become more and more intelligent over the past years. Now, I do not mind intelligent people, in fact all the people whom I hire are usually intelligent people, but what I don't like are tributes who outsmart us, or rather, the Gamemakers. We have seen a rising number in the amount of tributes who have figured out the way arenas work and how to manipulate it to their advantages. And that is not good. Do you know why?"

Aquila nodded. "Because it makes the tributes look cleverer than us."

"Perfect." President Snow said. "The Hunger Games are beginning to look like a code the tributes can crack and that is starting to remove the element of danger and control that we are trying to get across to the Districts. We need to stop that image before it builds further and develops into some kind of rebellion. That is where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." He said. "As Head Gamemaker, it is your job to ensure that the Games return to their original complexity and difficulty. You will do this by preventing any tributes from discovering the way the arena works and hence preventing any manipulation."

"And how would I do that?" Aquila asked bravely.

The President leant forward in his chair and Aquila swore that she saw a small flicker of mischief flash in his eyes. "You will do it by deceiving the tributes into thinking that there is a way to work the arena and then revealing that their guesses are wrong. You will twist it so that there is no way of predicting what will happen next, nor any way to avoid what we throw at them. You will confuse even the most intelligent of brains and see them struggle to figure things out. In short, you will create an arena that _cannot be solved_."

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**A/N- Okay, so that sets the rest of the story up. I hope it makes the story sound intriguing enough.**

**Now, as this is an SYOT, I will be needing people to send in some tributes to participate in these games. I am currently open for submissions and will accept them via pm, so please don't submit via review because I don't want readers to know everything about a tribute before I have written the story, so please please please only send via private messaging. To submit, please fill in the form below and send it to me. I am most likely to accept detailed forms, so don't be shy when it comes to filling it in! However, I am requesting that we don't have too many 'weird' tributes; a couple will be acceptable, but I would like some normal tributes too otherwise it won't be very realistic. Oh and try not to copy off characters from the Hunger Games books because I really would like unique tributes and don't want the same old characters that have been seen before. Apart from that, you can pretty much do whatever you want and be as creative as you like with your tributes! Each author can submit a maximum of three tributes, but I probably won't accept all three, so please highlight which tribute you want to be accepted the most. That's it, I think, so get submitting and I look forward to receiving your tributes! Keep an eye on my profile for updates on how many spaces are left and when the accepted tributes list will be posted!**

**Tribute form:**

**Name:**

**Gender:**

**Age:**

**District (please put 2 other choices besides your preferred district!):**

**Appearance:**

**Personality:**

**Sexual Orientation (eg. Straight, gay, bisexual etc. And would they be likely to have a relationship in the Games?):**

**Strengths (at least three please, and no more than six!):**

**Weaknesses (again, at least three and maximum of six):**

**Fear/s:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Background/history:**

**Family:**

**Friends:**

**Reaped or volunteered?:**

**Reaction to being reaped/volunteering:**

**Reaping Outfit:**

**Opinions on Capitol/Games:**

**Interview Angle:**

**Interview Outfit:**

**How will they act in the Bloodbath?:**

**Allies?:**

**Arena Strategy:**

**Anything else:**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx**


	2. District One Reapings

**A/N- So, the prologue is over and now it is time to jump straight into the Reapings. Here are our District One tributes, submitted by ImmyRose and Emmeline C. Thornbrooke. I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes, I hope you enjoy reading it!**

**And here is a completed list of all the tributes. Thanks to everyone who submitted!**

**District 1 Male: Adriel Maguire _-ImmyRose_  
District 1 Female: Carman Josefina Alvarez _-Emmeline C. Thornbrooke_  
District 2 Male: Caius Devron -_munamana_  
District 2 Female: Artemisa Drai _-Zuri2002_  
****District 3 Male: Hayden Williams -ardiethepenguin  
****District 3 Female: Estella Clayworth -_Regieturtle_  
****District 4 Male: Sawyer Phillips _-FoxfaceFan1_  
****District 4 Female: Galene Fulgora _-LokiThisIsMadness_  
****District 5 Male: Maverick Monarch _-Flintlightning_  
****District 5 Female: Victoria Landly -_ElementalEvolution_  
****District 6 Male: Garry "Fen" Fender _-GreenPokeGuy_  
****District 6 Female: Tess Mercier -_Lupus Overkill_  
****District 7 Male: Delaney "Laney" Ares -_Rebirth of a Demented Kitten_  
****District 7 Female: Tayala Billies _-In-My-Head-749_  
****District 8 Male: Talon Radycus -_Ryan22000_  
****District 8 Female: Nardia Cornelius James -_BamItsTyler_  
****District 9 Male: Wen Taleigh -_hp0123_  
****District 9 Female: Clio Aster _-katsparkle13_  
****District 10 Male: David Peterson -_thederangedramblingsofme_  
****District 10 Female: Petunia Evens _-Axe Smelling God_  
****District 11 Male: Nietzsche Cirque -_ElementalEvolution_  
****District 11 Female: Cerese Melion -_Dissection of the Mind_  
****District 12 Male: Alex Silver -_Cometsrock1_  
****District 12 Female: Emilia Lowe -_Tessabelle94_**  


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Adriel Maguire, District 1 Male POV

I'm awake precisely three minutes and twenty seven seconds before my alarm goes off. It's one of those really aggravating alarms where the bleeps are monotonous, but irregularly paced, and the sound keeps repeating over and over in your head for the dragging minutes following. Many times have I thrown the clock at the nearest wall in a frustrated manner when arousing from a dark pit of slumber, but the damned thing has never broken or ceased to annoy me. I could easily go down to the training centre, pick up the largest axe and smash it down on the durable and seemingly indestructible clock, but I always manage to find reasons not to. Like today, for example. I can't oversleep on the day of the Reaping, can I?

I'm feeling slightly empowered as I swing my long legs out of bed, the duvet falling like a sheet of snow at my feet. Beating the race against my alarm clock seems to have made me feel a little better about today and I almost feel like smiling as I stroll over to my en-suite. But, of course, that smile never reaches my lips.

Walking into the bathroom, I fumble for the light switch and let the artificial brightness fill the room. It burns my eyes at first, but after a few exaggerated blinks, the stinging sensation fades. I stand before the mirror, frowning as I inspect my appearance. My hair is its usual messy self, but I notice the right side of it looks a little flat, so I quickly run my fingertips through it and ruffle it again. A lot of people tend to say that I always look as if I have just rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the house, but I don't correct them. I like the bed-head style; who wants slicked-back hair that looks as if a grease pan has been poured all over your head? As for those other popular hairstyles, most of them make the boys look like groomed pets. And I for one certainly do not want to resemble the family spaniel.

I splash some cold water over my face and rub a dry flannel over it. Then just as I go to turn around, I spot something that disturbs my appearance. Quick as a flash, my hand dives for the tweezers and I pluck out the offending stray hair from just below my left eyebrow. I then stride out of the en-suit and head downstairs.

The smell of freshly brewed expensive coffee greets my nostrils as I walk into the wide kitchen. I've never been one for coffee, it's a bit rich for my likings, but my adoptive dad, Bruno, adores the beverage. He stands over the coffee brewer, crushing down the beans like I would crush the bones of a tribute if I were in the Hunger Games. He notices me looming in the doorway and holds up a mug. "Coffee, Adriel?"

I shake my head. "I don't need a chemical to wake me up in the morning."

"Caffeine is hardly a chemical…" Bruno says, tapping the side of the mug with his fingers.

"It alters your brain's activity, so by definition it is a chemical." I reply bluntly, grabbing a slice of bread from the table and slouching onto one of the chairs.

"Actually, a substance that alters your brain's activity is called a _drug_." Bruno corrects me.

I grunt. "Exactly. Coffee is a drug. And I'm not drinking it."

Bruno sighs, a sign of defeat, and returns to his coffee brewer, a low whistle echoing from his pursed lips. For a man without a wife or girlfriend, Bruno seems extremely optimistic about life and always seems to be in a good mood, despite my attempts to dull his cheerfulness. I've never liked my adoptive father, he's far too calm and no matter what I do to try to anger him, he still manages to keep cool and collected. And I don't like that. I want a father who I can challenge, not some happy-go-lucky guy who has a ridiculous fondness to coffee. I never knew my real father, he died before I was born, but I bet he was more like me. If he was married to my mother then he must have been, she would never have married anyone like Bruno. I often wonder what life would be like for me if my mother was still here. She too had died, in a house fire, but that was when I was twelve so I had plenty of time to get to know her. My mother was always very strict when I was growing up, she seemed protective and controlling over my life, but I always put that down to her grief over my father. I adored her, but now I have realised that she wasn't the angel I believed her to be, but rather a control-freak who was so bitter about her past that she wanted to live her life through her son instead. If she was here now, or even 'looking down from heaven' then I bet she'd be pleased with her work: I am completely like her.

Swallowing down the last mouthful of bread, I sound a large burp and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in satisfaction.

"Must you burp so loudly, Adriel?" Athalia, Bruno's daughter and my adoptive sister, walks into the room. She is wearing a pale blue dress that reaches just above her knees and shows off her slim, tanned legs. Her hair is expertly braided to one side and she has weaved in a few tiny white flowers into her locks.

"Must you wear such provocative dresses?" I reply harshly, smirking when I see the hurt look on her pretty face. "You look like a slut with all that flesh showing."

"Adriel!" Bruno protests from behind his coffee mug.

I flash him a hard stare. "You should be ashamed of your daughter, dressing like a tart."

Athalia, appearing to look very uncomfortable in her dress now that I have pointed it out, tries to pull it further down her legs. There actually isn't anything wrong with the dress, it isn't even that short, but I like to knock her confidence, it makes me feel better about my own appearance.

"Just ignore him, sweetheart." Bruno says softly to Athalia. She nods silently, but still seems extremely self-conscious as she takes a seat at the kitchen table, her eyes facing to the floor in an embarrassed manner. She's eighteen, one year older than me, yet she is very meek and insecure; most of the time I feel older than her because of this.

I roll my eyes and slouch further back in my chair as Bruno starts to talk to his daughter.

"How are you feeling about your last reaping, Athalia?" He asks her.

"Fine, Father." She replies. "Someone will volunteer even if I'm reaped, so I'm not worried about it,"

"You should be the one volunteering." I butt in. "Oh wait, you didn't even train, did you? My mistake, I forgot that you were too weak and wimpy to train."

Athalia drops her head.

"Fortunately, I am not." I continue. "Which is why I have decided to volunteer today."

Bruno almost chokes on his beverage. "You're _volunteering_?!"

I nod. "Yeah, I was going to wait another year, but then I thought, what's the point? I'm as ready now as I'll ever be. I don't want to wait another year to become Victor and get out of this hell-hole."

"This isn't a hell-hole." Bruno says, but doesn't actually seem to be insulted. I guess he's used to it by now. "It's a decent-sized house in one of the richest parts of the district."

"Yeah." I say, rising from my seat. "But it isn't the house that's the bad bit, it's the people in it."

Carman Josefina Alvarez, District 1 Female POV

I stand at the end of the street, re-tying the scarf under my ponytail and looking down the wide road. Two rows of large white houses line the street, all identical except for the biggest one at the head of the street. That's the one I am staring at. It's bigger than the others, almost twice their size, but just as grand. Large and spotlessly clean white washed walls with polished windows and a dark slated roof, the house sits proudly over the others in the way a king would when addressing his subjects, or the President when he gives speeches to Panem. I was never really interested in houses as I left my own home four years ago (I was eleven at the time) and I've been living on the streets and sleeping in any random building I can find, but there is just something about this particular house that amazes me. A small grin passes my lips; maybe it's not just the house that I'm interested in, but instead the person _inside_ the house.

I wait patiently for another few minutes until the large wooden doors of the house open and a girl comes out. She walks quickly down the street, a general elegance around her as she hurries along; her light red hair streaming out behind her like a veil. I can't help but smile when I see her, she has that effect on me. I'm usually not interested in people, they're all idiots, but there's something different about Amélie and it's not just the fact that she's the mayor's daughter.

As Amélie draws close, I stand up straight, peeling my back off the wall that I was leaning on and flash her a warm smile. She returns it with such a sweet twinkle in her smoky eyes that makes the smile on my face grow even larger.

"Carman." Amélie says warmly.

"Amélie." I say back. "You okay?"

She nods, a stray of hair falling over her forehead. Gently, I reach over and push the strand back.

"You look beautiful." I tell her.

Flushing a slight pink in her cheeks, Amélie bites her bottom lip and looks down to her white cotton dress that hangs beautifully off her small figure. It's a lovely dress, so pretty and so like Amélie. If people were dresses, this would be Amélie.

"Thanks, Father bought it for me to wear especially for the reaping." She says. "You look lovely too."

I glance down at my attire; a cotton flared skirt and beige blouse. Nothing special, as I don't own many clothes, but it is my best outfit. Living on the streets kinda limits you to the amount of luggage you can carry around.

"I do my best." I laugh, holding out my hand for Amélie to take. Shyly she places her dainty hand into my much tougher hand, which has been worn into by my training. "Let's walk for a bit. We still have some time before the Reaping begins."

As we walk along, hand in hand, Amélie tells me about the recent news in the District. Being the mayor's daughter, she is always one of the first to know the latest gossip. Personally, I couldn't really care less about the drunkards who smashed into the gift shop the other night, or the new Peacekeepers who arrived last week, but I don't say that to Amélie. She's generally a quiet girl, so it's nice for her to feel comfortable talking to me and also, I like hearing her speak. The way she pronounces each word so delicately is like music to my ears. It's a shame she hates public speaking, otherwise she would be great at giving speeches to the District.

Amélie and I met only a year ago, but I feel as if I've known her all my life. We first crossed paths one night when I was out wandering through the District, looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. As I was searching through what I thought was an empty house, I had heard a cry from nearby. I had ran out of the building to see a couple of Peacekeepers cornering a girl. The girl had looked terrified and was desperately trying to tell the Peacekeepers that she was innocent, but they were ignorant towards her, calling her a thief and saying how she was going to be arrested if she didn't pay an extortionate fine. I'd had my fair clashes with Peacekeepers, you tend to bump into them a lot when you live on the streets, so I wasn't afraid of them or what they would do. So I ran over and pulled the Peacekeepers away from her, punching them here and there when physically pushing them wasn't enough. I had managed to create a gap for the girl to escape through and she slipped away. I didn't think I would see her again, but later that evening when I was walking alone, she had come running up to me and thanked me. I didn't know at the time that she was the mayor's daughter, but it didn't seem to matter because we hit it off straightaway. I guess our differences went together nicely, her gentle nature ironed out my toughness. It just worked, I suppose. Another thing I hadn't realised until meeting Amélie was that I was gay. I was never interested in boys, they were far too immature, but I never thought that I was gay. Neither did Amélie, but when two people connect like that, I guess it doesn't matter what sex they are.

"So," Amélie says as we walk down the street. We're on the other side of the District now, quite close to where the Reaping is held and right next to the Training Centre. "Who do you think will volunteer this year? I don't train, so I don't know much about it."

"Hmm, let's see." I chew my bottom lip in thought. "I'm pretty sure I heard Crystal Delia saying that she was volunteering this year. She _is_ the top student out of all the eighteen year old girls. As for boys, I'm not sure, there are quite a few who are keen. I guess it will be a matter of who gets to the stage first, as it always is."

Amélie frowns, "I don't see why so many people want to volunteer. Isn't it a bit risky to do for some money?"

I say nothing, my eyes falling to the floor at my feet.

"Carman?" Amélie squeezes my hand. "What is it?"

I don't want to lie to her, I really don't, but I didn't want her to find out this early. I plan to volunteer this year; I know I am much younger than most other volunteers at only fifteen (sixteen next month though!), but I feel prepared and well, I don't want to be living in the streets anymore. Amélie is the mayor's daughter, she shouldn't be with someone like me really. If her family knew… Well, let's just say they wouldn't be very pleased. I reckon they would eventually get over Amélie being gay, but I see no chance in them allowing her to be with me and I don't want to put her in that position. She shouldn't have to choose between me and her family.

"Carman?" Amélie says again.

I raise my head and look her in the eyes. Her grey eyes are like clouds of mist and they stare deep into mine. There is no way I can lie to her.

"Amélie." I say gently. "I, erm…"

She seems to have guessed it before I say it. "You're volunteering, aren't you, Carman?"

I bite my lip.

"Carman!" Amélie exclaims. "Why would you volunteer this early?! You're not even _sixteen_ yet…"

"I am in a month!" I cry out.

Amélie shakes her head, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. "I can't believe you'd do that…"

"But I'm doing it for you!"

She turns to look at me again, confusion all over her pretty face. "For _me_? How is risking your life going to help _me_?"

"Because…" I look to the ground, then raise my eyes to look at her again. "If I win, I'll be rich and important and and…" My sentence trails off.

Amélie's look turns soft once more; understanding. "You think that if you win the Games, you'd be good enough for me because I'm the mayor's daughter. Is that it?"

I nod slowly. "You're beautiful, you're important in this District. I'm not. But I want to be. And I thought that if I could win the Hunger Games then maybe I'd no longer be a rough girl on the street, but a respectable and suitable girl…And then maybe your parents would approve…"

"Oh, Carman." Amélie wraps her arms around me, embracing me in a floral-scented hug. "I don't need my parents' approval. I can do what I like, be with whom I like. And that's you, my rescuer, remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"Then you should know that I fell in love with that girl who rescued me that night, not anyone else." Amélie says. "You don't have to change to be with me."

I nod, but deep down I know this isn't true. I'm not saying that Amélie is lying, I'm saying that she doesn't realise the full truth. But I do. And I know that the only chance I have to be good enough for her is to win the Hunger Games. I'd have to leave Amélie behind, but if I came back, which I believe I can do, then it will be worth it to have that chance of a future together. And that is all I want in this world.

* * *

Having arrived at the town square, I wait in the queue of teens to get signed in. The queue goes down quite quickly and I'm so preoccupied with my plan that I don't even feel the needle prodding into my finger. Half in a daze, I suck the tiny droplet of blood from my finger and plough through the crowds of people.

The Reaping is as hectic as it usually is, some of the older teens arguing over who is going to volunteer. One of them even goes as far as throwing a punch at another's face and as they stumble backwards, they crash into the side of me.

"Oi, watch it!" I snap at the boy, pushing him off my shoulder.

"You watch it_, little girl_." He sneers at me.

"Oh, grow up, will ya?" I roll my eyes and walk off, holding my middle finger up to him as I disappear back into the crowd.

As I line up with the other fifteen year old girls, my eyes desperately search for Amélie, but I can't see over the heads and bodies of the other girls behind me. Damn, I wish I was a bit taller…

I don't have time to look again as the Capitol anthem begins to play and the escort totters across the stage to the microphone.

"Welcome District One to the forty-fourth annual Hunger Games!" She says, a full smile stretching across her face. "Let's begin with the girls, shall we? Although I have a feeling that there are some very eager volunteers in the audience…"

I smile secretly to myself. I can't wait to wipe the smug smile that I know will be plastered on Crystal Delia's face. I know that she was chosen by the trainers to volunteer this year, she practically broadcasted it to the entire District, but I know that she won't be smiling for much longer. Not when I volunteer.

The escort moves over to the girls' reaping bowl and plunges her hand into the masses of paper slips. I start to prepare, working out my route up to the stage. I know I will have to be quick if I'm going to get there first. Lucky for me that I'm nearer the front; it does help being younger…

Just before the escort reads out the name, I decide to strike.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I cry out, pushing through the wall of unsuspecting fifteen year old girls. Many of them gasp, shocked that someone so young is volunteering, but I don't have time to say anything back; I can here Crystal yelling. I bet she'll try and beat me.

It's my advantage of being nearer to the stage that helps me to win and I sprint up the stairs. As I tell the escort my name, I look out into the audience, searching and searching for Amélie. And when I see her, all I see is a face filled with disappointment.

Adriel Maguire, District 1 Male POV

I'm impatient as I wait in the town square. Boys and girls from the ages of thirteen to eighteen come swarming in, most chatting away to each other and whispering about who they think will volunteer this year. So far I haven't heard anyone mention my name, but they wouldn't, would they? Volunteers are usually eighteen year olds, the maximum age you can be in the Hunger Games, and I know there are plenty eighteen year old boys ready to volunteer this year. I've seen the determined looks on their faces, and I'll be the one to ruin that for them. Because I will be the one volunteering, not them.

The atmosphere is pretty electric, the majority of people here love the Hunger Games and this is one of the most exciting days for some. It is for me, actually. I didn't feel excited, I generally don't feel those kinds of emotions, but I do feel a small rush of adrenalin pumping through my veins as I wait for my time to shine.

I remember Bruno's face when I told him I was volunteering, the way he almost choked on his coffee. I guess he wasn't expecting me to volunteer a year early, but that's me, I don't like being predictable. In fact, it was a pretty sudden decision. I had always planned to volunteer when I was eighteen, squeeze in that extra year of training, but I couldn't stand it at home anymore. I wanted to break free and live my own life. And becoming Victor will do exactly that.

"Welcome District One to the forty-fourth annual Hunger Games!" The District escort addresses the audience. She is wearing a skin-tight metallic playsuit that goes from just under her pointed chin and all the way down to her ankles. She looks stupid, really stupid. All Capitol people look ridiculous. "Let's begin with the girls, shall we? Although I have a feeling that there are some very eager volunteers in the audience…"

The escort goes over to the first bowl and dips her hand in, swirling it amongst the sea of slips. Then at random she plucks one and totters over to the microphone. But just as she opens it up and goes to read the name, a shout comes from the crowd and a girl comes running up to the stage.

I take a good look at her. She's quite short, with long ebony hair and cinnamon coloured hair that is tied back and sealed with a scarf. I'm sure I recognise her from somewhere, but I can't think where…

"And now, the boys!" The escort takes a slip from the second bowl.

I step forwards. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Several curses and angry shouts from the eighteen year olds who were going to volunteer follow me as I jog up to the stage. I embrace the insults, I'm glad I beat them all to it. Now they won't have a chance to be in the Games, ha!

"A second volunteer!" The escort beams as she passes me the microphone. "Your name?"

"Adriel Maguire." I say clearly. "Oh, and might I just add that you look like a giant spoon in that outfit?"

* * *

**A/N- So there are our first two tributes... What do you think of them? How do you think they will get on? Will they get on well, or will Adriel's arrogance annoy Carman? I know it would annoy me if I were her...**

**Please review and tell me what you thought. I hope I portrayed them well enough, but let me know! And if you don't review often, then I may not think that you are interested in the story and thus your tribute may die sooner than you'd like... But even if you don't have a tribute, then please still review!**

**District Two Reapings are next and they are both going to be very interesting tributes...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	3. District Two Reapings

**A/N- Okay, here are the next pair of tributes from the wonders of District Two! Thanks to munamana and Zuri2002 for submitting these great tributes!**

* * *

Caius Devron, District 2 Male POV

I always knew that the warehouse was a dump, but I never realised how_ much_ of a dump it really was until now. Firstly, it smells. Not just a general warehouse odour, but more along the lines of a burnt plastic kind of smell; one that almost dulls your sense of smell entirely. Secondly, the warehouse is cold and empty, besides the hundreds of crates and myself of course. It has an incredibly high ceiling and shallow walls, so whenever I make a sound it bounces around the room, echoing from corner to corner, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. There's always a chill in the air that likes to catch onto my skin and cling there, tickling the hairs on my arms into soldier stances. And thirdly, it is apparent that whomever owns this place has never heard of hygiene. I'm not one of those obsessively clean people, but I still don't appreciate thick clouds of dust being thrust in my face every time I pick up a crate, nor am I fond of the occasional rat that scurries between my feet.

As if hearing my thoughts, a rat makes an appearance, darting out from behind one of the crates beside me and disappearing again behind another. There was a time when I would try to get rid of the rodents, but I've gone past caring now. If I was being paid more than the scraps I'm being given now, then maybe I would put a little more effort into my job and there wouldn't be any rats chewing through the corners of crates. But I am not being paid more than scraps, so I'll stick to minimum effort.

Having put down one of the crates, I walk over to the next pile and begin unloading it, removing the top crate. This crate is substantially heavier than the last and I feel my muscles strain as I carry it over to the others. Just as I'm placing it on the floor, I hear the sound of the door opening.

"Caius?!" The booming voice of the warehouse owner echoes through the room. "Where are ya?!"

Putting the crate down, I stand back up straight and come out from behind a wall of crates, revealing my location. My boss spots me and beckons me over.

"Someone wants to speak to ya." He says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "He's outside. Some guy from the trainin' centre? I thought at first he was after the wrong guy, seein' that you don't train no more, but he seems pretty sure. An' he's quite impatient, so I'd get shiftin' if I were you."

Shrugging, I walk over to the door and leave the warehouse. It's like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders as I step outside; the air seems much lighter and fresher than in that dump. I turn the corner and see Marc, the head trainer at the Hunger Games training centre, leaning against a wall. He looks up as I walk over and by the expression on his face, I can guess that he's feeling a little fed up.

"Caius." He offers me a hand. I shake it firmly. "You're probably wondering why I'm here, aren't you?"

I nod.

"I have some news for you regarding this year's Hunger Games." He says. "Now, I know you had to… _resign_ from your training two years ago…"

_Resign_. He says it as if it was my choice to leave, as if I was the one who walked out. But we both know that wasn't what happened…

When I was eight, my mother couldn't afford to take care of me (so I was told anyway), but instead of being sent to the District Orphanage, I was taken in by the Career Academy because of my strong and 'promising' build. I spent the following eight years training in the academy in preparation for the day that I would volunteer for the Hunger Games. I didn't particularly want to, but after eight years it was drilled into my head that when I was eighteen I would volunteer and they wouldn't take no for an answer, especially after taking me in from such a young age, they felt that I had to give something back to them in return. However, this expectation of volunteering was dashed when I was sixteen. I was practising with another trainee, he was a year older than me and far more bloodthirsty and obsessed with the Games than I ever was, or ever will be; and during this session he was pumped up and a little on edge after a recent argument he'd had with another boy. I was quite calm as usual, but this boy was getting more and more aggravated as I dodged his attacks, so he snapped out of frustration and made a surprise lunge at me with his spear. However, he had aimed a little too high and instead of grazing my shoulder like he should have done, he caught my neck instead. The blade of his spear had pierced the skin of my lower throat and torn into my flesh. Immediately, the boy dropped the spear and called for help, but I had already passed out from both blood loss and complete shock; I didn't even feel any pain. When I woke up, which apparently was quite surprising because many people were sure that I was going to die, I remember feeling an intense pain in my throat, like someone had ripped out my windpipe and left me with a gaping hole in my neck. It was then when I tried to ask the doctor what had happened and why I was still alive, that I realised I couldn't speak. No matter how hard I tried to form words, I couldn't; all that would come out were a few grunts. I was told that the spear had torn into my vocal cords and that I would never speak again. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I was labelled 'damaged goods' and thrown out of the academy.

So yes, I think the word resign is incorrect here. How about _thrown out? _But of course, I cannot say this to Marc, I just have to wait for him to continue.

"But, how would you feel about volunteering for the Games this year?" Marc asks. "Look, I know it may sound a little strange as you aren't training anymore, but I remember that you used to be pretty good and I'm sure you still have it in you. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate…No, desperate is the wrong word…I mean, er…look son, we've had a bit of a catastrophe at the academy and we are in need of a male volunteer."

I want to ask what happened to the others, so I pull a confused face in the hope that he will catch on. He looks a little perplexed at first, but quickly catches on.

"Oh, well our main lad got injured, so he had to leave. Then our second guy was the one who injured him, so he was disqualified and is in jail for the next few weeks for doing it." Marc explains. "And then when we think things can't get any worse, we're told that our third boy was only training because his parents wanted to claim that they had a son at the prestigious academy, so as soon as he had a chance to volunteer, they pulled him out too."

I smirk.

Marc sighs. "Look, Caius, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't need you. But all our other lads aren't ready yet and none of them have the natural talent that you had, or still have! I'm not gonna force you into it, but please think about it, ok? I believe you have it in you to win this; and think about all the money and fame you'll have!" He checks his watch. "I've gotta dash, but promise me you'll think about it at least!"

I stare as Marc jogs off, my mind in a state of temporary shock. For the last two years I've been working for scraps, thinking that I'm damaged and will never achieve anything because of it, but now all that has changed in the space of two minutes. The only question is, what do I do now?

Artemisa Drai, District 2 Female POV

_The sound of the door echoed through the room, the creak of the already weakened hinges screeched through the air. I knew it was Dad, he always swung the door open like that on a Friday night. Actually, he swung the door open on every night. _

_It was late, maybe about half one, two am? Well whatever time it was, it was past my bedtime and when it got past my bedtime, things usually ended up bad. I was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water to soothe my sore throat, but as soon as I heard the door opening, I knew I had to hide. _

_Looking around the kitchen, I couldn't see anywhere to hide, so I ran into the lounge next door and ducked behind the sofa. The sofa stank of dried wine and a large dark stain was splashed on the fabric. I squeezed my nose to block out the smell, I hated the smell of wine. In fact, I hated the smell of any alcohol, it reminded me of those terrible nights when Dad would come home so drunk that if I said as much as 'how are you?' he would slap me across the cheek with the back of his hand. He still came home like that, but he hadn't hit me in weeks; probably because I was always out of the way whenever he was around. But I wasn't out of the way this time, I was in the line of fire, praying behind the sofa that I would be spared a bruise tonight._

_Heavy footsteps sounded in the room, the floor slightly vibrated under me. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping in a childish way that if I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me either. _

"_Adrianne!" My Dad's deep voice boomed throughout the house._

"_What time ya call this, Luca?!" The sound of my Mom's shouting came next. _

"_Any fuckin' time I wanna call it!" Dad yelled back, his words slurred._

"_Don't swear at me, ya pig!" _

"_I can say whatever I wanna say, useless bitch!"_

_I stifled a whimper as the beating sound of Dad stomping up the stairs crashed over me, scared that his boots would break through the staircase. I waited, too petrified to move, and listened for a safe moment to make my escape. But instead, all I heard was more yelling, the sound of my Dad slapping my Mom across the face, her hitting him back, calling each other every curse under the sun. This I was used to, but then I heard a clatter, something tumbling down the stairs._

_Cautiously, I peered out from behind the sofa. And at the bottom of the stairs I saw my Mom. But she wasn't standing, ready to yell something at me, she was on the floor. Unmoving, still on the floor, and with a pool of blood as a pillow under her head._

I scream, swinging the machete towards the dummy. With an easy swipe, the head of the inanimate prop comes clean off, landing with a solid thud on the floor. But that isn't satisfying enough, so I spin around sharply, hacking the limbs off another two dummies and adding them to the pile of severed body parts that litter the training room floor at my feet. And as a finishing manoeuvre, I throw the machete high behind me and wait until I hear the sound of the blade hitting its target. Turning around slowly, I see that my blind aim is just as perfect as it always is and the machete is sticking firmly out of the heart of the dummy behind.

There's a small applause and I snap my head to the side to see Marc, the head trainer at the academy. "Nice sequence, Artemisa. I see you've been working on the backwards technique."

"I didn't need to work on it." I smirk arrogantly. "It all comes naturally."

"I'm sure it does." Marc replies. "Are you still volunteering this year?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Are you seriously asking that question?"

Marc nods. "Well after the problem we had with the males, I wanted to make sure that we still had you on board. I'm taking it as a yes, then?"

"Of course." I say, putting the machete back with all the others. "There's no way that I wouldn't."

"That's great to hear." Marc says. "You're by far our best female in the academy, no-one else comes close."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

Laughing, Marc begins to straighten up the racks of weapons. I've been through all of them this morning and I never put them back properly, I know it gets on Marc's nerves.

"So, have you solved the male volunteer problem, then?" I ask, releasing my long red hair from its ponytail. I'm not a natural red-head, my hair is actually a dark brown, but last year I felt I needed a change of style so I dyed it all red. Everyone says it makes me look more dangerous because red is the colour of warning and danger. Most of the boys say it looks sexier.

"Sort of." Marc replies.

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"Well, I'm not sure if he will or not." Marc explains. "He didn't exactly give me an answer…"

"Who is it?" I ask. "Lance?"

Marc shakes his head. "No, Lance isn't good enough yet, he still has one more year."

"Then who is it?"

Marc waits a few moments before saying, "Caius Devron."

"_What?!" _I stare in astonishment at my trainer. "You asked the guy who can't speak and who hasn't even trained for the last _two years?!_ Are you out of your mind?!"

"We had no-one else who was ready!"

"Oh, and Caius is?"

Marc pinches the bridge of his crooked nose. "Despite everything, he was a good fighter, really good, one of the best. And he shouldn't really have been kicked out of the academy, his inability to speak didn't destroy his ability to fight. I guess we overreacted. But trust me, Artemisa, he's good."

"Not good enough." I snort, tossing my hair over my shoulders and storming out of the room. As I leave the training room, I yell back to Marc. "At least nobody will care when I kill him in the arena!"

* * *

I arrive at the Reaping with ten minutes to spare. However, a lot of people are already here; many like to get here early so they can place bets on who will volunteer. I'd guess that many are betting on me. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like at a Reaping in an outside district, where no-one volunteers except for the occasional heroic sibling or best friend. Life must be so boring there with no training academy and where everyone is afraid of the Games. I'm glad I was born in District Two, we have the best reputation out of all three Career Districts as producing the most lethal of tributes, as well as our record for the highest amount of Victors. Soon I'll be one of them too and will be adding another name to the existing list that towers over the other districts. District One do have quite a few Victors too, but not quite as many as we do and I'll be glad to push our numbers up one higher.

As I walk over to sign in, I pass a group of boys in their late teens. I recognise most of them, but can't put names to their faces. From the corner of my eye, I notice them staring at me, their eyes flicking up and down my body. A small smirk forms on my lips and I toss my hair back, giving the boys a wink.

"You can look, but you can't touch." I say in a teasing tone. "And I'll be Victor this year, so you'll have plenty to look at when I'm on the big screen every day."

One of the boys wolf-whistles and I laugh, walking off and making sure my hips are swaying a little more than usual.

Once I have signed in, I go over to stand at the back of the block of girls. Because I'm eighteen, I have to wait in the back row so all the younger girls can stand in front. Some of them are quite tall though, so my view is partially blocked. I'm not small or anything, I'm just average height really, but many of the girls here are like towers. But I could beat every single one of them in a fight. Probably even blindfolded.

A short while later, once the speech has been given by our escort, who looks very eccentric in his laminated orange suit, it is time for the girl to be reaped. Or more correctly, time for me to volunteer. I deliberately stood on the end of the row of girls so that I had a clear run to the stage. I doubt any other girls will volunteer as they all know that it's my turn, but just in case anyone got any ideas, I'm prepared.

The escort picks the first slip of paper and is about to announce the name, when I decide to shout what I have always wanted to shout. "I VOLUNTEER!"

The crowd erupts into applause as I make my way to the stage. I leap up the stairs two at a time and take my place centre stage. The escort asks for my name and holds the microphone towards my lips.

"My name is Artemisa Drai." I tell the people. "But you probably all know that anyway. And another thing you should all know is that I'm going to bring victory to District Two once again!"

_And I'll have enough money to send my Dad to prison, _I think to myself, _He'll regret every bruise he ever put onto my body._

Caius Devron, District 2 Male POV

I've decided to volunteer.

After Marc had left, I too went home to get ready for the Reaping. For the entire walk home, which was about ten minutes at a decent pace, I couldn't stop thinking about what he had told me. A second chance, a chance to volunteer and be the tribute I was trained to be! The old me wouldn't have been pleased, I never wanted to be a part of the Games and kill for entertainment, but the new me, the cast-off who barely has a penny to his name, he needs to grab this opportunity with both hands. I'm still not bloodthirsty or craving for fame, I'm simply doing it to better myself and gain enough money to get me and Maggie out of that shack.

When I was thrown out of the academy, because I had no family and was too old to be taken in by the Orphanage, I expected to live on the streets until I got myself a decent job. But getting a good job isn't so easy when you are unable to speak, so that's why I had to take the awful job at the warehouse. That's when I met Maggie, a few days after being kicked out of the academy. I had briefly remembered her from my early training days; she too was training for the Games but an injury had left her unfit to continue. Maggie never let it get to her and being as strong as she was, she managed to get herself a job in a bar and could afford to stay in a very tiny shack; compared to what I had, she was rich. Maggie had heard about my injury and how I had been dismissed like she had, so she offered to take me in. I was reluctant at first, but she was so kind that I felt myself accepting her offer. After a year of living together, we got to know each other and started dating. Maggie never complained about my inability to speak, she learned to how understand me through hand gestures and grunts, although sometimes I had to write things down if my thoughts were too complicated to express. I think in a way she liked it, she found it interesting and mysterious, well that's what she told me anyway. We are still dating now and I am still forever in her debt for taking me in two years ago, so this is me trying to repay her.

I watch the Reaping with feelings of anxiety. I'm quite nervous to volunteer, but only because it's been so long since I believed I would be in the Games, not because of what lies ahead in the arena. I have no fear of dying.

The female tribute is a volunteer, as usual. I recognise her as Artemisa Drai; she was always one of the top girls when I was training. As usual she stands, tossing her obviously dyed red hair and flirting with anything in trousers. I'm not particularly fond of Artemisa, but that doesn't matter because I won't need to be nice to her in the Games. She'll be in the Career alliance no doubt, but I have no intentions of joining them. I'm in the Games to survive and hopefully gain a better life for myself, not to kill as many kids as I can.

Then it's time for the male tribute. The crowd falls silent as they wait for a volunteer. But they won't be hearing any shouts from me.

Following the result of the chosen slip, I step out from the crowd and begin to walk up to the stage. Hundreds of pairs of eyes follow me as I walk and various mumbles ripple through the people. Everyone seems to know about me.

As I walk onto the stage, the escort rushes over to me and holds out his microphone.

"And your name?" He asks.

I say nothing, for I cannot say anything.

"His name is Caius Devron!" Someone yells from below. "He had a training accident a few years back and he can't talk anymore!"

Artemisa mutters something under her breath, something offensive about me I'm guessing, but the escort seems impressed and thrusts my hand into the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District Two, I give you Artemisa Drai and the silent tribute!"

* * *

**A/N- Well, I found both of those tributes very fun to write for. At first I thought Caius would be difficult to do as he cannot speak, but it wasn't too bad once I got started. I hope I portrayed them both well enough...**

**What do you think of our second set of Careers? We can guess how they'll get on with each other already...but how will they react to Adriel and Carman? We know that Caius doesn't want to be a part of the Career alliance, so how will that play out in the arena? And what about Artemisa, she seems pretty lethal...**

**Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, keep them coming in! Remember, if I don't think you're interested in the story then I may take it out on your tribute...perhaps...hehe.**

**District Three next, a break from the Careers, but what will these next tributes bring to our Games?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	4. District Three Reapings

**A/N- I don't know why this took me longer than the other two reapings...but oh well, it's done now! Here are our first non-Career tributes, submitted by ardiethepenguin and Regieturtle!**

* * *

Hayden Williams, District 3 Male POV

"Hayden?" I feel a sharp prod in my arm and look up.

"What?" I ask, feeling a little dazed after resurfacing from my thoughts.

"You were in a daydream." My sister says, a small smile on her face. "Your toast has probably gone soggy now."

I peer down at my breakfast and pick up the slice of toast at the corner. And just as my sister said, the toast flops down, all soggy where the butter melted into it. It tears as I hold it and drops onto my plate, crumbs splattering on the table. I reach to swipe them up into my cupped hands and brush them onto my palms, then empty them on my plate.

My sister laughs light-heartedly. "What were you thinking of then? It must have been something interesting if you let your toast go cold and soggy, you usually eat in in seconds."

I shrug.

"Were you thinking about the Reaping today?" She asks. My sister is seventeen, two years older than I am, and much more popular. She has quite a pretty face and a lot of boys seem to like her, but she already has a boyfriend who she has been with for years now. She has lots of friends too. I only have two; Kain and Lily, but I wouldn't swap them for anyone else. As for a girlfriend, I don't have one either, but that's not just because I'm quite shy, but because I am gay too. My Mother and sister don't mind that I'm gay, but my Father did and when he found out he went ballistic and pretty much disowned me. He actually said "_no son of mine is gay!", _so I guess that meant that I was no longer his son anymore seeing that I was gay. My parents argued about it for days, but eventually when it became clear that Father wasn't going to give in, Mother left him and we moved to a new house. I like this house better, I think, my room is bigger and my Father isn't here to give me disapproving looks.

I shrug. "I guess so. My name is in there an extra time than last year."

"But that doesn't mean you'll be Reaped." My sister says gently. "There are tons of other kids who have their names in their over twenty times!"

"What about you?" I ask.

She frowns. "Erm, maybe about six or seven times? Something like that."

"Are _you_ worried?" I question her, peering carefully at her expression through my glasses.

"Um, I guess I am a little bit." She replies, then looks at my sodden toast and sighs. "Do you want another slice of toast?"

I nod and she gets up, taking my plate with her. I follow her with my eyes, watching as she cuts another slice of bread and puts in under the grill. I can make toast fine by myself, but I can never get it as golden as my sister can, she's a bit of a perfectionist like that. You can see it in her bedroom too; it's always spotlessly clean with all of her books lined up neatly in alphabetical order and her clothes tidily folded in her drawers. Not that I have looked in her drawers by myself, she showed me once when she needed help deciding on what to wear to her boyfriend's birthday meal with his parents. I think she thought that because I was gay, I liked clothes and all other girly stuff. That isn't the case, but I didn't tell her that, I didn't want to hurt her feelings or anything; I think she likes talking to me about girly things.

My sister hands me a plate with the freshly made toast and the smell is so inviting that I barely have time to thank her before I take a huge bite out of it. The toast crunches between my teeth and the sweet taste of melting butter fills my mouth. Wow, I love toast so much.

The doorbell rings as I'm finishing the last bite of my toast and my sister runs to answer the door. Moments later, my best friend Kain walks into the kitchen, dressed in a smart shirt and dark trousers. His mother always insists on him dressing up for the Reaping and he complains every year about how tight the trousers are.

"Hey, Hayden." Kain says, leaning against the yellow painted wall. "You ready to go to the Reaping?"

I wipe the toast crumbs from my mouth and stand up from the chair. "Yeah, are we meeting Lily?"

Kain nods. "She said she'll wait for us at the end of her street because we pass it on the way."

"Ok." I say, running out of the room and slipping into my shoes. My sister is standing on the bottom stair of the staircase, brushing the tangles out of her long dark hair.

"You going to the Reaping then?" She asks. I nod. "I'll see you later then, I'm going to walk down with Mom and Corren." _Corren_ is her boyfriend, by the way.

I give my sister a quick hug before departing from the house. Kain and I walk down the street, making small talk about the Reaping and he tells me about what his sister did at the weekend. Kain's sister is quite reckless and a bit of a rebel, she likes to...sleep around, as Kain says. Apparently she thought she was pregnant at the weekend, but it turned out to be a false alarm.

As we pass the street that Lily lives on, she's there and spots us, waving frantically as she runs over.

"Hey you guys!" She says, squeezing between us and linking one arm through mine and the other through Kain's. "Oh my gosh, I am sooo nervous!"

"Yeah, you sound it…" Kain says sarcastically, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from Lily's elbow.

Lily turns to me. "What about you, Hayden? Nervous for the Reaping?"

I shrug. "I suppose. Who knows what will happen?"

Estella Clayworth, District 3 Female POV

I knock on the glass door and wait for my physics teacher to wave me in. He looks up from his book, his tiny frames balancing precariously on the end of his nose and upon noticing me standing outside, he beckons me in. I nudge open the door and walk in, wincing as the door slams shut behind me. I really hate that door…

"That door is awful, isn't it?" Mr Parry says, chewing his bottom lip. "I was thinking that we could launch a project in class to design something to stop that from making such a loud crash when it closes. It would give the class a chance to use what we've been learning about momentum to create something practical. What do you think?"

"Sure, sounds good." I answer, opening up my satchel and digging around for my assignment. I find it under my mountain of textbooks and pull it out. "Oh, I finished the essay you set last lesson."

"Already?" Mr Parry seems surprised, his eyes scanning over the first page of the essay as I hand it to him. "Hm, this seems good so far, I look forward to reading the rest."

"What are you reading?" I ask, pointing to the open book on his desk.

"Oh, this?" He picks up the book. "It's just an advanced theory about weather patterns. It's quite complex really, I doubt you'd be able to understand it straight away, maybe in a year or two."

"Try me." I smirk. "Have you got a spare copy?"

My Parry nods. "Over on that shelf- the second one down. You're welcome to borrow it, I'd love to see how much of it you understand."

I walk over to the shelf and take the book. It's quite thick and when I put it in my satchel, I instantly feel the pull on my shoulder. "Thanks, Mr Parry."

He shakes his head. "No, no, call me Seamus. We're not in class, so I'd prefer to keep things a little more informal. You have quite an adult brain and when I talk to you I feel as if I'm talking to a fellow physicist, so there is no need for formality in these matters."

"If you insist." I say, holding back the urge to laugh at his name. _Seamus_! He really does _not_ suit that name at all, it adds at least five years to his age.

"Yes, yes." Mr Parry, I mean _Seamus_, says. "Although don't tell any of the other students, I'd still like to be called Mr Parry in lessons."

"Of course." I reply. "Well, it's the Reaping, so I'd best get off. Thanks for the book though!"

"Good luck with the Reaping, Estella." He says back. "Goodbye."

I nod and walk towards the door. I get distracted looking at one of the particles models on the shelves that I don't even notice the door opening, so I walk straight into it.

"Ouch!" I cry out, rubbing my forehead.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" A boy says, his voice filled with worry. I look up and see that the boy is Jason, who is ranked second in the class (I'm first, of course).

"You could have knocked me out, idiot." I snarl, pushing past him and storming out of the room, my head throbbing where the door hit it.

Halfway down the corridor, I hear someone yelling my name. I stop and turn around to see Jason chasing after me.

"What do you want, Jason?!" I cross my arms across my chest. "If you're thinking about hitting me with another door, then I'd think again."

He stops in front of me, his cheeks flushed a bright red shade. "I'm sorry Estella, I really am. You were distracted by something and didn't see me coming in. But I—"

I cut him off. "Don't blame _me_! _You're_ the one who didn't see me! _You're_ the one who swung the door open _into my face_!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, it was all my fault, I admit." He says meekly. "But I really didn't mean to, it was an accident. I swear it was."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, walking fast along the corridor.

"Estella, wait!" Jason calls after me, but this time I don't stop. "Estella!"

As I reach the exit of the building, I'm slowed down as my bag gets caught on the door handle. Huffing with frustration, I try to yank my bag free, but it stays stuck.

"You stupid bag!" I scream angrily, tugging on it.

"Whoa, calm down." I look to see that Jason has caught up with me. "Here, let me."

I refuse to let him help at first, swatting his hand away, but after another failed attempt to free my bag, I reluctantly give in. With a face as strong as thunder, I watch as Jason smoothly unhooks my bag from the handle, making it look so easy. And as he hands it to me, his hand brushes against mine. I quickly jerk my hand away from his, but I can see that Jason has blushed again.

"Um, Estella…"

I put my satchel over my shoulder, ignoring Jason's gaze. "Bye."

"Estella, wait, please." Jason grabs my arm, his fingers dig lightly into my skin.

"Get off me!" I pull my arm from his grasp.

"Sorry…" Jason says. "I was erm, wondering if you would erm…like to erm, go out some time?"

"No, I would not." I reply bluntly.

Jason's face drops. "Oh…do you already have a boyfriend?"

"No, I do not." I say. "And nor do I ever intend to have one."

Jason's jaw drops. "Are you a _lesbian_?"

I shake my head. "No, I am not a lesbian!"

"But, but…I don't understand…"

"I'm not interested in a relationship, with neither boys nor girls, okay?"

"What?" Jason looks confused.

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. "I thought you were meant to be intelligent, Jason."

"I am!" He protests. "I'm second in the class. I just don't understand why you don't ever want a boyfriend, but aren't a lesbian. I don't get it."

I let out a frustrated squeal. "I'm a-sexual, okay?! DO YOU GET IT NOW?!"

But all I get in reply is a look of pure shock.

* * *

Slipping into my shoes, I walk out the front door and shut it behind me. The key turns with a sharp click as I lock the door.

"Hey, Estella."

I turn around sharply, my long ebony hair whipping around like a cape. There is Jason, standing outside my house, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"What do you want now?!" I snap as I walk speedily past him. "I've got to get to the Reaping."

"I'll walk with you." He says, jogging up beside me.

"I'd rather you didn't." I say, nudging him away with my sharp elbow. "Go and hassle someone else."

"But I don't like anyone else like you." He persists. "In class you always impress me with your intelligence, you're so clever and I wish I could think like you do."

"Life is tough." I reply. "Now leave me alone."

"But—"

All I can think is thank goodness I live pretty near the centre of District Three because I cannot stand another second with this idiot. I much preferred him when he used to sit quietly in class, staring at me in wonder as I presented my latest research. Now he is just annoying. Why do boys always get like this? They're completely normal up until they hit their mid-teens and then almost over-night they become obsessed with shoving their tongues down girls' throats. It's disgusting. That's one of the reasons why I am a-sexual; because boys are complete idiots after puberty. Girls are just as bad too, although not myself of course. I made this decision about being a-sexual when I was eleven, after a boy tried to plant a soggy kiss on my lips, and I swore never to go anywhere near the male species again. Or the girls either because all the girls my age are just slutty idiots.

Upon reaching the Reaping, I manage to lose Jason in the crowds and I quickly sign in, heading over to the sixteen year old girl section. A few of the girls give me peculiar looks as I stand beside them and I catch someone whispering something about a _'teacher's pet'_.

"Well I'd rather be intelligent than be a dumb whore." I say deliberately loud enough so that the girls next to me can hear.

"_Excuse me_?" One of the girls says to me. "Did you just call me a whore?"

"Yup." I reply. "And before you start calling me names again, I'm just gonna say that if you get reaped for the Hunger Games, I don't think wearing your skirt _that_ short will help, whereas having a decent brain, like I have, will."

The girl goes to retort, her face flushed with both anger and embarrassment, but she is cut off by the sound of the Capitol music. Everyone turns their attention to the stage as our escort strides confidently onto the stage.

After a short speech and the general crap that is presented to us each year, the escort moves to stand behind the first reaping bowl, where hundreds of slips of paper are piled high. District Three has a lot of teenagers, I observe.

"Ladies first! The escort announces, swiping up the top slip and strolling over to the microphone. "And our female tribute is… Estella Clayworth!"

The girls beside me erupt into laughter. "Not so confident now, are you Estella? Haha!"

I flash them a sour look. "Keep laughing. I'll look forward to wiping those smug smiles off your fat faces."

Hayden Williams, District 3 Male POV

The Reaping is busy as it always is; I often forget just how many people live in this District, but every year I am reminded once more. If I had it my way, I would live in a District with only my Mother, sister, Kain and Lily. But of course, nothing ever goes my way.

Sensing my nervousness, Kain grabs me by the shoulder and presses me into a quick hug. I hug him back hard, clenching his shirt in my fist so when we pull apart, the back of his shirt is slightly crumpled.

One behind another, Lily, Kain and I sign in. I wince as the needle prods my finger and a drop of my blood drips on the paper.

"I've got to go now, but I'll see you guys after the Reaping." Lily says, giving both Kain and I a quick hug. "Good luck, but I don't think either of you will be picked, I have a gut feeling."

"I wouldn't trust Lily's gut feelings." Kain jokes to cover his growing nerves. "Remember when her gut told her that we wouldn't be caught spying on my sister?"

Lily scowls. "Don't offend my gut! That was a one-off, okay? I have never been wrong any other time!"

Kain just shakes his head and pulls me by the arm over to where the fifteen year old boys are meant to stand. I watch Lily disappear into the rows of girls, her face still in an angry pout. That's one thing about Lily that I really admire; she never backs down and never lets anyone override her opinion. I often find myself wishing that I was a little more like her.

Kain and I stand together in silence as the escort talks on the stage about the Capitol and how 'wonderful' it is and all of that nonsense. As the girl's name is chosen, I bite my lip, praying that it isn't Lily.

"Estella Clayworth!"

I feel a massive sigh of relief wash over me as Lily is in the clear. I don't know Estella, but she seems pretty stern as she walks onto the stage. Her long dark hair matches the thunderous look on her face. I feel sorry for whoever ends up being reaped with her.

"And our male tribute this year is…"

I suck in a sharp breath.

"Kain Rhinestone!"

My heart shatters at the sound of my best friend's name. I stare in shock as Kain begins to walk bravely up to the stage, his hands closed in tight fists and his head facing forwards, trying not to cry. I follow him out with my chest tight and the feeling of tiny flecks of glass stabbing into my heart. I can't lose Kain, not after all he has done for me. Not after all the nights he sat with me as I cried over my Father disowning me because I was gay. Not after everything.

Before I realise what I'm doing, I sprint down the path, dodging the Peacekeepers that try to grab me. I push Kain to the side just as he reaches the stairs, and fling myself in front.

"I volunteer!"

* * *

**A/N- Ooh, a non-Career volunteer... Do you think it was kind of Hayden to volunteer for Kain, or is it an act of reckless thinking? I'm sure we can guess what Estella will think of it... Speaking of Estella, how do you think she will cope in the arena that 'cannot be solved'? After all, isn't intelligence that the Capitol are trying to destroy in these Games?**

**Please let me know what you thought of these two, I really enjoyed writing for both of them. I hope I did I good enough job of writing for them, if I didn't then I will go and take cover now... Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, keep them coming in please!**

**Next up we are back to our final Career District, number Four! These tributes will add some interest to the Career pack...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	5. District Four Reapings

**A/N- Ah, sorry for the late update again, I have been so busy the past few days and haven't had a lot of time to write! Alas, I am done now, so please enjoy the District Four Reapings and thanks to FoxfaceFan1 and LokiThisIsMadness for submitting these great tributes!**

* * *

Sawyer Phillips (17) District 4 Male POV

Today I am feeling pretty good. Tossing aside the duvet, I spring out of bed and rush over to the curtains, drawing them back with such clarity that a gust of air sends a few sheets of paper flying off the desk, where they slowly flutter down to the carpet. The sun pours into the room, filling it from top to bottom with a golden light that sets a warm tingle in the air.

"What a beautiful day for a Reaping." I say out loud to no-one in particular, peering down on the District from my bedroom window. Personally, I think I have the best view in the entire house; I can see straight down to the main centre of the District, where the Reaping is being set up this very moment. I see clusters of Peacekeepers walking around, some carrying electronic pads and yelling out orders. I can't hear what they are saying exactly, but I'm guessing it has something to do with one of the stage lights that looks quite wonky…

Tired of watching the set-up, I turn away from the window and snatch up the fallen sheets of paper, putting them back on my desk. I then grab the first shirt I see, pull it on and stride out of my room, heading downstairs.

It seems that I'm the last one up in the house because when I enter the kitchen, everyone else is in there. By everyone else I mean my parents, Steffi (my five year old sister who is going through a phase of making pictures with her food) and Trish and Jackson, who are the fourteen year old twins of the family. Trish and Jackson aren't identical of course, what with one of them a being a girl and the other a boy, but they do have their similarities. Jackson told me once that he and Trish can read each other's minds and because I'm not a twin myself, I believed him. Of course I know now that it isn't true.

"Morning, Sawyer." My Mom says, her hands plunged into a sink of soapy water. Foamy soap suds climb up her arm as she attacks the dishes with a sponge. "You want breakfast? I can rustle you up some pancakes if you want."

"As tempting as a pile of your wonderful pancakes sound, I cannot stay for long." I reply.

Mom raises her eyebrows. "Is this Mac's annual Reaping warm-up thing again?"

I nod. "It is indeed."

My friend Mac is one of those guys who will use anything as an excuse to hold a party of some kind. He started doing this 'Annual Reaping Warm-Up' four years ago and since then it has become a sort of tradition for him and his friends. It usually entails some kind of game, most often 'spin the bottle', in order to get excited for the Reaping and let out any nerves anyone has. Not that many people are nervous for the Games, we are in a Career District after all, but as I said, Mac will use anything as an excuse.

"Okay, I'm off then." I say cheerfully, snatching up an apple from the fruit bowl and rubbing it on my shirt to shine it. "I'll see you at the Reaping."

"Bye bye, Sawyer!" Steffi says, waving her butter coated fingers. I wave back and see that she has made a flower out of her toast.

"Don't miss me too much." I laugh, ruffling up Trish and Jackson's hair as I pass them. Trish glares at me and I pull a tongue back at her, whilst Jackson throws a punch at my stomach which I swiftly avoid.

"Have a good time." Mom calls to me as I leave the room. "Just don't do anything stupid!"

I laugh, halfway out the front door. "As if I would, Mom!"

I shut the door and head down the street, the sun warm on my back as I make my way over to Mac's house. He doesn't live far, just a few streets down, so it isn't long before I'm knocking on his front door.

"Sawyer!" Mac grins as he opens the door to me. "Come on in, everyone else is already here."

"I haven't missed anything, have I?" I ask, walking through to Mac's lounge where I see our other friends scattered about on the carpet.

Mac shakes his head. "Nope, we waited for you."

"I _am_ worth waiting for." I laugh, sitting myself down next to Athena.

"Hey, Sawyer." Athena says. "You ok?"

I nod. "Yeah, what are we playing today then?"

Athena rolls her eyes. "Spin the bottle –again."

Mac walks in holding a bottle. "But it's the best game, right?" He places in the centre of the circle. "I'll spin."

He spins the bottle and we all watch it closely as it spins, before coming to a stop in front of Cade.

"Cade." Mac says to him. "Truth or dare?"

Cade thinks for a moment. "Dare."

"Ok." Mac says. "Your dare is…."

"Kiss Mac's Mom on the lips!" Athena shouts out, earning a roar of a laugh from the others, including myself.

Cade gets to his feet. "Sure. I always thought Mac's Mom was fit."

Mac's face turns red as Cade swaggers out of the room. "That's my Mom! It's disgusting…"

Athena laughs. "C'mon, spin the bottle again, Cade might be a while."

Mac takes the bottle and spins it again. This time it stops in front of Athena. She sighs. "Truth."

"Have you ever fancied anyone in this room?" I ask her.

Athena nods immediately. "Yeah."

There's a wolf-whistle from Mac. "Who?!"

Athena shakes her head defiantly. "I've already answered my question, you can't ask me another one."

"But I want to know who you fancied!" Mac protests.

"Chill, dude." I laugh. "It was obviously me who she fancied."

Cade walks in, his face a bright cherry colour. "Who fancied Sawyer?"

"Athena." Mac replies. "Whoa, what happened to your face?"

"Your Mom." Cade says, sitting down. "I'm telling you, she is hot!"

Mac shudders. "Ew, spare me the details, that's my Mom you're talking about. Anyway, let's go again." He spins the bottle. It lands on me.

"Truth or dare?" Athena asks, her green eyes staring wickedly into mine.

There's no need to think about it, I always choose dare. Always.

"Dare."

Athena beckons the others and they all lean in, creating a wall out of their bodies that blocks me from hearing their discussion. I wait patiently for my dare, poking the carpet with my fingers.

"Ok, we've got it." Athena says as they all turn back to face me.

"What is it then?" I ask.

Athena looks at the others, then at me.

"Volunteer for the Hunger Games."

Galene Fulgora (18) District 4 Female POV

I open my eyes and stare up at the textured ceiling, swirling patterns collide with each other and make my eyes feel fuzzy as I try to distinguish one pattern from another. I've always hated the ceilings in my parents' house; I think because my Mom owns the library, she thinks she should replicate parts of the elegant building into her own home. I can see features of the library when I walk through the house, from the burgundy velvet curtains with the gold-threaded ties, to the spiraling wall-lamps that only give off a dim bubble of light, and finally the horrific textured ceilings. Just because she owns a library doesn't mean she has to live in one.

As I tear my gaze from the hypnotic ceiling pattern, Glass stirs in his sleep, tugging the duvet closer to his chiseled jaw. Glass and I are engaged, he proposed last year after winning the Hunger Games. It was an easy Victory for him, most of the Career pack were killed quite early on (besides Glass of course) and so he had little competition as the outer District tributes weren't so great either. Glass is pretty modest though, he doesn't really like to think of his Games as 'easy', but I think that he had it simple enough as far as Hunger Games go. However this year, I don't think the Games will be easy at all.

The twists for the Games aren't usually told to Panem before they begin unless it is a Quarter Quell like it will be in six years. However, someone working as a Gamemaker in the Capitol, who is a good friend of Glass, found out about this year's twist and told Glass, who told me and then I told my Dad and with him being a trainer at the Career Academy, he spilt the news to everyone there. The twist this year is that the arena doesn't have a solution, so tributes cannot use it to their advantage and out-wit the Capitol. Naturally, being a Career District, most of the trainees are extremely talented physically and, according to my Dad, it would be a waste to send them into the Games in such a 'twisted' arena when they would be much better as trainers for future Victors. This was seen as a brilliant plan and many members of the Academy felt as if District Four had beaten the Capitol at their own game by outsmarting them. And my Dad agreed...until he found out that the trainers had nominated me to volunteer.

During my training years, I was never one of the best fighters, nor was I one of the worst. I was, you could say, average for a Career. So average that I was placed exactly in the middle of the rankings. This was why they chose me to volunteer, because I was neither too good for the Games, nor not good enough. And according to the them, it was the most 'logical' conclusion. So I said yes. Not just because it was ungrateful to say no, but because it will give me a chance to fight for myself and show that I can do things just as well as Glass.

I slide slowly out of bed, cautiously so that I don't wake up Glass. My room is dimly lit, so I fumble around for some kind of footwear blindly, until I find some plimsoles and slide my feet into them. I'm creeping towards the door when I hear a mumble escaping from Glass' lips. I freeze.

"Where...you..going?" He says sleepily, his face half-covered by the cream duvet.

"Just getting some water." I reply simply, opening the door. "I'll be back soon."

Glass murmurs a reply, before burying his head back into the duvet. I sigh, shaking my head, and head for the bathroom.

There is an automatic light switch in my bathroom, so upon opening the door, the room is filled with a gentle glow. I close the door behind me and quickly lock it to ensure my privacy. But I'm not bothered about anyone walking in when I'm in the shower because plenty of people have seen me naked; I'm more bothered about someone seeing what I'm doing.

I open up the bathroom cupboard and root around, knocking over several bottles of face cream and other toiletries, until I finally find the small box of pills. My fingers clasp around them protectively, as if they could be snatched from my grip at any moment. As I read over the instructions on the box, butterflies start to flutter in the pit of my stomach. What if this is the wrong decision?

"Oh shut up, Galene." I tell myself firmly. "Just do it already."

Without leaving myself time to rethink my decision, I tear open the box and pop out the pills. Grabbing the glass at the side of the sink, I fill it up with some water and place the pills in the palm of my hand, raising it to my pursed lips.

"Galene?" There comes a knocking at the door and I jump, spilling some of the water over my hand. I curse as the liquid runs cold over my skin. "It's Glass. You ok in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" I reply smoothly.

"You've just been in there for a while now." Glass says through the door. "And I heard you talking to yourself. What have you 'got to do already'?"

My eyes dart around the bathroom, searching for something. "Oh, I need to erm.." I spot a pair of small scissors on the window ledge. "Cut my hair."

"Your hair?" Glass sounds baffled. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, there's just a strand that keeps falling in my eyes and I want to get rid of it." I lie casually. "No major deal."

"Oh, ok.." Glass says. "Are you sure it's just that?"

"Yes yes, don't worry. I'm perfectly fine." I say. "Why don't you do something useful and make me a coffee, eh?"

Glass sighs. "All right, black coffee?"

"Of course."

I wait, listening as he walks along the corridor, then hear his heavy footsteps down the staircase, where they fade out and leave me in silence again. Once I'm sure that he has gone, I return my attention to the pills, which have nearly been crushed in the fist I never realised that I had made. Shaking off the water droplets from my hand, I retrieve the glass of water and bring the pills back to my lips.

Without further hesitation, I open my mouth and empty the pills in, swallowing them quickly down with a gulp of water.

I drink the rest of the water and rinse the glass, returning it to the side of the sink. The box still lies open on the window ledge and I take it in my hand, crushing it with a strong fist. But when I toss it into the bin, the words on the box are still readable, staring up at me like an innocent child. _Exactly_ like an innocent child in fact.

And those words are: Abortion Pills.

* * *

Despite having being last year's Victor and this year's District Four mentor, Glass still insists on walking me to the Reaping. Despite not mentioning it, I think he is still dubious about what happened in the bathroom earlier. I know we are engaged and that because of that we should be telling each other everything, but I have absolutely no intention to tell him the truth about this morning. Because I know exactly how he'll react; he will go mad at me for aborting his baby.

I found out that I was pregnant about two weeks ago, before I was chosen to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I was skeptical about it at first, I wasn't sure that I particularly wanted a child at this age, but I didn't instantly want an abortion either. It was only when I found out that I was going to go into the Games that I knew what I had to do. Thankfully, I hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy, so I knew it would be a simple task and one that I could move on from. And now that I have done it, I feel as if a terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

When we arrive at the Reaping, Glass is called over by the Mayor, so he gives me a quick kiss on the lips, mumbling an apology, then runs off where he is needed. I quite like being engaged to a Victor, it certainly has given me a lot more notice from other people in the District, although a lot of it isn't good. Glass is a decent looking guy, so many of the girls are jealous of my position.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" My Dad asks for about the twentieth time since we left the house. "You don't have to volunteer, I can have a word with the other trainers and tell them not to penalise you for not doing it."

"You'll achieve nothing." I say to him and it comes out sounding harsher than I wanted it to. "I mean, when have the trainers ever taken your opinion into consideration?"

He can't say anything in reply.

"Exactly." I say. "If they didn't listen to you when they chose me to volunteer, then why would they listen to you now?"

"Maybe they will, if I explain.."

"Leave it, Dad." I tell him. "I'm volunteering, ok? Shouldn't you be happy that I want to be a Victor?"

"Well.."

"Whatever, I need to sign in." I roll my eyes and walk off.

After signing in, I go to stand in my allocated place and wait for the Reaping to begin. Glass spots me from his seat at the side of the stage and flashes me a smile. I smile back, though I swear I can see a small box in his hand that looks like the one that came with the abortion pills. I shake my head, tossing aside the thought. Of course not, he is completely oblivious, right?

Throughout the rest of the Reaping, I keep all thoughts of unborn babies out of my mind, even when I volunteer. All I keep saying to myself is that I need to win these Games not only for the trainers who nominated me, but for myself. Surely this won't be too difficult? After all, what is so bad about an unsolvable arena anyway?

Sawyer Phillips (17) District 4 Male POV

"I bet he won't do it." I hear Athena whispering to Mac as we wait in the queue to sign in.

"But he's never turned down a dare." Mac whispers back, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yeah, but this is a bit extreme, don't you think?" Athena replies. "It would be stupid if he did it."

"Sawyer isn't stupid." Mac says. "Reckless maybe, but not stupid."

I'm at the front of the queue now, so I hold out my finger to be pricked. I barely feel anything as the needle prods my finger, my thoughts focused on my challenge. I have to volunteer, there is no way I'm failing a dare. I have never refused a dare and I don't intend on doing so today. Besides, this isn't that much of a big deal, right? People volunteer for the Games all the time.

Mac, Cade and I say goodbye to Athena, who walks to stand with the other girls. We're all the same age, so we stand together and wait for the escort to come on. He soon enters the stage looking as cheerful as ever, a huge cheesy grin plastered on his heavily made-up face. I will never understand why Capitol men wear make-up, it looks ridiculous.

"What's with the eyeliner?" Mac comments to Cade and I.

"Don't you mean _guy_-liner." I smirk. Cade and Mac cover their mouths as they try to contain their chuckles.

As the escort blabbers on about the Games, we each take it in turns to point out something stupid that the escort is doing or wearing. Cade points out the way he wiggles his hips when he walks and Mac says something about his 'feminine hands'. I'm trying so hard not to laugh that I nearly miss the female tribute walking onto the stage. She's a volunteer, Galene Ful-something or other. I can't say I recognise her from the training centre, but she looks in good shape, so I'm guessing that she's pretty handy when it comes to weapons.

"And our male tribute this year is..." The escort elaborately plucks out a slip of paper. "Re-"

"I volunteer!" I yell, stepping out.

"_What?!_" Mac gasps. "_Are you serious?_"

"Oh come on, Mac." I roll my eyes. "I thought you knew me well. Of course I wouldn't turn down a dare."

"But but-"

"Now if you don't mind, I've got a stage to get to." I laugh, turning away from my friend and jogging up to the stage. As I reach the stage, I'm asked for my name and I say it clearly into the microphone. As my arm is thrust into the air by the escort, who really does have very feminine hands, I look down to my friends below. Mac and Cade seem to be over their initial shock and are waving hysterically at me, whooping and cheering loudly. But when I look down at Athena, all she does is shake her head at me and mouths the word: idiot.

* * *

**A/N- Hmm, two different tributes there... What did you think of them? I thought it was very interesting to write about Galene, especially with her aborting her baby, it isn't anything I have come across before. So what did you think about that? And with Glass being her mentor, is her secret likely to come out? I know he won't be pleased if he finds out...  
And what about Sawyer? Do you think it was stupid of him to volunteer? Is he a bit naive, or does he realise what he has gotten himself into?  
**

**Please review and let me know what you thought. I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes and I hope I wrote them accurately enough!**

**District Five next...What will our next two tributes be like?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	6. District Five Reapings

**A/N- It's time for District Five now, with two contrasting tributes kindly submitted by Flintlightning and ElementalEvolution. Enjoy!**

* * *

Maverick Monarch (18), District 5 Male POV

"Oh, there you are, Maverick."

I look up from my book to see my sister, Victory, standing in the doorway with her hands perched on her hips and her long blonde like a cape around her shoulder. Victory by name, Victory by nature. She won the Hunger Games three years ago, so it's considered quite a coincidence that her name was Victory. But it was very much deliberate. Our Mother intentionally called her daughter Victory because she was almost certain that one day she would win the Games. You'd expect that sort of behaviour from a Career District, not District Five, but the truth is that our family were from a Career District; District Two to be precise.

I was born and raised in District Two; Victory and I were enrolled in the training academy for the Hunger Games, preparing for the day that we'd volunteer and hopefully win the Games. It was our parents' dreams to become Victors when they were our age, but our Father was injured and had to resign, becoming a Peacekeeper instead. And our Mother was all ready to volunteer in her final reaping year, but she fell pregnant with Victory and wasn't allowed to compete. So that dream became mine and Victory's future.

Three years ago, the same year that Victory volunteered for and won the Games, our Father was promoted to Head Peacekeeper of District Five, so we all moved. I was a little sceptical to begin with because things were so different in an outlying District, like there was no training academy and people generally feared the Games, not relished them as they did in Two. However, I soon got over it and trained at home instead with my Mother and Victory's guidance. In a way I think I actually prefer living in District Five because I'm in the minority, training wise, so there isn't as much competition. Also, the people here are much more focused on education and I like that, I always wished that I could have spent more time at school, but living in a Career District took some of that away. I still went to school there, but no-one really seemed to care about it; everything was more centred on training for the Games.

"You spend _way_ too much time in here." Victory says, referring to the library that I'm sitting in.

"If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who got it built for me." I point out.

Victory rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because I know you love reading. I didn't mean _live_ in here!"

"I do not live in here." I reply. "I simply come here when I want some time to relax."

"Which is all of the time…" She mutters, picking at her fingernails.

"Not _all_ of the time." I correct her. "If that was the case then this room would smell of perspiration and faecal matter because there are no personal hygiene facilities in here."

"_Perspi-what_?" Victory frowns, her fair eyebrows drawn tightly inwards.

"It's a synonym for sweat." I inform her, turning the page of my book and scanning my eyes down the writing. I'm not really reading it; I find it difficult to concentrate on reading when someone is watching me.

"What's a synonym?" Victory asks, confused.

I sigh, lifting my eyes from the book. "It means 'another word for something'. I have told you this before, why do you keep forgetting?"

She shrugs. "I don't remember all of that academic stuff, it's useless to me now."

"Knowledge is the most useful thing in the world." I say, placing a bookmark in between the pages of my book so I don't lose where I read up to. One thing I hate is losing a page in a book, it takes ages to find again and you end up wasting time that could be spent reading even more.

"Maybe it's useful to a genius like you." She says, mocking my intelligence again. "But not to me. Intelligence didn't win me the Hunger Games, physical ability did."

"Well that's lucky for me, isn't it?" I say, walking across the room. "I have both."

I flash my sister a smug smile and squeeze past her through the doorway. She darts out a hand to ruffle my hair, but I dodge smoothly to the side, missing her attack.

"Nice dodge." She observes.

"I know." I reply, laughing as I stroll down the corridor to my bedroom.

As I open the door to my room, I snatch up the nearest pencil from my desk and turn around sharply, throwing the piece of stationery towards Victory. The pencil cuts cleanly through the air, heading straight towards Victory, before hitting its target. Victory gasps in shock as the tip of the pencil collides with the top button of her blouse then clatters to the floor.

"I hope you weren't aiming for my eye." Victory says, picking up the pencil.

"Nope." I shake my head. "I was aiming for that button on your shirt."

"Well you certainly hit dead-centre." She says, still a little startled.

"I always do." I smirk. "Some say my aim is unequivocal."

"And _I_ say that you should use words that people actually _understand_."

I cock my head to the side. "But where's the fun in that?"

Victoria Landly (15), District 5 Female POV

I wake to the sound of irregular snores. A rippling, yet almost bellowing sound of low grumbles from the back of a throat, followed by sudden and sharp intakes of breath, each one startling me even though I know they are coming. The snoring traces back to Roar, the local bully and hard-core thug who wears an eye-patch across his left eye, claiming to have lost it during a fight with a Peacekeeper earlier this year. Most of the people were dumb and naïve enough to believe his preposterous tale, but I knew he was lying all along because he was with me on the night he claimed to have had this fight and he was certainly nowhere near any Peacekeepers, that's for sure… Not to mention that I've seen him without the eye-patch on and he still very much has his left eye, and a rather dull eye it is actually, a dim grey without so much of a fleck of kindness. No wonder he wanted to pretend he'd lost it.

Roar stirs in his sleep, grumbling to himself as he rolls onto his back. He always does this before he wakes, I have observed.

"What time is it?" He asks groggily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Both of his eyes of course because he never lost one. Oh what fun I would have if I exposed the truth about him! However, despite the humiliation it would bring to him, I would lose my most promising customer, which is something I don't want. Roar has become a regular client recently, taking full advantage of my…_services _almost twice every week. So losing him would mean no more bread for me seeing that his payments are what have allowed me to afford a luxury such as a small loaf of bread each week.

"It's nine o'clock." I tell him, glancing at the old clock that hangs wonkily on the wall. I'm surprised that it's still working to be honest; the hands are looking dangerously close to sticking, but I can't afford to buy a replacement.

"Shit." Roar swears, tossing the thin duvet off himself and leaping out of the bed. A sudden gush of cool air hits my side where the duvet has been lifted and I quickly grab it back, pulling it tightly towards my body to keep in the heat. That's another thing I cannot afford: heating.

"What's the problem?" I ask, propping myself onto an elbow.

Roar doesn't look at me as he hastily gets dressed into last night's clothes; the smell of cigarette smoke still clutches to the fibres of the material. "It's the Reaping today, remember?"

"Oh." I say passively, running my fingers through my hair. "I thought you didn't care about that?"

"I don't." He replies, pulling on a sock. "But the place will be swarming with Peacekeepers so I've got to keep low."

"Why don't you keep low here?" I suggest, adopting a husky tone that I tend to use when trying to seduce someone. "There's plenty of space in the bed to hide. Or there's the closet if you fancy a…change of scenery."

Roar seems tempted at first, then shakes his head. "Nice try, Vic, but you've got to go to the Reaping and I'm not overly fond of the idea of the lying in your bed alone whilst you're gone. I pay for you, not the duvet."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, don't stay. Although you are aware that I charge extra for the night before the Reaping?"

Scowling. Roar fumbles in his pocket and retrieves a handful of coins. He tosses them on the bed. "Keep the change. Happy Hunger Games."

And with that said, he exits through the door and slams it shut behind him. Then I'm alone once more. Just like I have been for the past two years since my parents abandoned me, the bastards. I can almost hear them in my head, telling me how disgusted they are with me. It's hardly _my_ fault that I have to sleep with guys to afford to live, it's _their_ fault. But ironically enough, I quite like my job actually. The pay is good and I get to hear all sorts of secrets that the guys mumble in their sleep or reveal to me when they're so drunk that they can barely stand. Sure there are disadvantages, but overall it isn't that bad a life. It could be worse; I could be in the Hunger Games.

* * *

Despite detesting both the Hunger Games and the people in my District, I end up going to the Reaping. I have no other choice really, I'm on the records so they'll know if I'm not there and I'll have a bunch of idiot Peacekeepers knocking on my door within minutes. And I really can't be bothered to deal with them; turning up to the Reaping being dragged by Peacekeepers isn't likely to attract more customers to my tiny house. Actually, it's more of a shack than a house…

As I wait in line to sign in, I adjust my top, tugging its neck further down so that the top of my bra is showing. _That_ is how to get more customers.

At the front of the queue, I hold out my finger to be pricked and feel the sharp sting in the tip. I then walk away, sucking the tiny spot of blood from my finger.

The girls who I have to stand with see me approaching and almost simultaneously step to the side, edging away from me. A few of them mumble things quietly, but I manage to catch a few words. _Bitch. Prostitute. Disgusting. _The usual adjectives used to describe myself by the snotty girls of District Five.

I ignore them as the Reaping begins, but sneak in a few glares when they're not looking. As the escort drones on about the Capitol and all of that nonsense, I notice one of the boys across the way is staring at me, his eyes full of wonder at my large cup size. I flash him a wink and run my tongue lightly over my lips, teasing him. He winks back and I can picture see the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he scans my body. I'm just about to mouth something to him when I hear my name being called out.

My head turns so sharply that I hear my neck clicking.

"Victoria Landly!" The escort calls again.

I say nothing.

"She's here!" One of the girls near me shouts, pointing towards me.

When I show no intention of walking to the stage, a couple of Peacekeepers approach me, their large gloved hands grabbing both of my arms and pulling me from the crowd.

"Get your hands off me!" I scream, struggling in their tight grips. "Let me go you idiots!"

They say nothing and continue to drag me towards the stage. So I start to screech, high pitched screams ripping out from my throat and poisoning the air. I desperately try to free my arms, but the hands grip tighter.

When I'm eventually pulled up to the stage, I have to be held by the Peacekeepers as the escort moves onto the male tribute. And as the escort walks past me, I spit at his feet. There is no way that I'm going to be a tribute for these petty Games. Not if I can help it.

Maverick Monarch (18), District 5 Male POV

"I am so proud of you, you know that?" My Mother says, rubbing my arm fondly. "You're doing exactly what _I_ wanted to do when I was your age."

"I've already done it." Victory points out. "Where's my praise?"

Mother shakes her head. "You've had your year, let Maverick have his. It's not all about you, Victory."

Victory rolls her eyes. "I know…"

"Good." Mother turns back to me. "So, are you ready to volunteer?"

I nod confidently, but inside I'm quite anxious for this all to be over. Victory said that when she volunteered, it was the most exciting thing she has ever done in her life. But somehow I don't think I'll be having the same feeling. It's not that I don't want to volunteer, because I really do; I've been training since I was only seven years old; it's just now that the day is here, I want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. The sooner this day is over, the sooner I'll be in the arena and winning the Games. That's the plan anyway.

"Right, I've got to go and sign in now." I say, glancing over to the desk where the queue has shrunk quite dramatically in the last few minutes. "I'll see you before I leave for the Capitol, ok?"

"Yes, of course." Mother says, giving me a quick hug. She isn't normally one for hugs, so this comes as quite a surprise to me, but I hug her back nevertheless. "Good luck and remember to enjoy the moment."

"Yeah, it's like the best feeling ever!" Victory adds. "Actually, the feeling of becoming Victor is better, but this is close. Have fun, little brother, I'll see you later."

I say my goodbyes to my Mother and Victory, then my Father who comes over quickly. Being a Peacekeeper, he's not meant to be with us, but as he's the Head, he can get away with it. He wishes me luck, gives me a hearty slap on the back and waves me off as I sign in and go to stand at the back of the crowd.

My two best mates, Watt and Bugs have saved a spot for me to stand beside them, so I go over to them.

"Did you manage to finish that book I lent you?" I ask Watt. He and Bugs are avid readers like myself and they like to browse in my library at home, often borrowing several books at once. But they always bring them back, they're reliable like that.

"Yeah, it was really interesting." Watt replies. "I'm usually one who predicts the plot lines, but I didn't see that ending coming, did you?"

I shrug. "I had a close idea, Trev did seem a little suspicious, but I wasn't sure why. It was a pretty spectacular finale though, I've got to admit. Kept me thinking for days afterwards."

"Are you still volunteering?" Bugs asks.

I nod. "Of course."

We have no more time to chat because the Reaping begins. The girl who is chosen, Victoria Landly, the local prostitute, creates havoc when her name is called out and has to be physically dragged screaming up to the stage. Anyone would think that she didn't want to be Reaped, haha.

My moment finally comes when the escort reads out the male tribute and I step forwards, yelling "I volunteer!" as loudly as I can.

A few shock gasps echo around, but as I walk up to the stage, a couple of people recognise Victory as my sister and start nodding as if it was expected of me to volunteer. The escort points the microphone in my direction and I announce my name.

Then as soon as it's over and the crowd has cheered their last cheers, I feel a wave of relief that it's over. Now the real thing begins.

* * *

**A/N- Hmm, two different tributes there, what did you think of them? Maverick may have lived in a Career District for the majority of his life, but will those last few years in Five prove to be a disadvantage for him in the Games, or does he have what it takes to be as good as the other Careers? And for Victoria, does she have any hidden skills that will enable her to do well in the Games, or is her behaviour and defiance blocking her chances?**

**Please review and let me know what you think of these two tributes. I must say I found Maverick very interesting to write, with him being an ex-Career training in an outside District. But I also found Victoria pretty fun to write because of her attitude to life and detestable personality. **

**District six next (I'm sure you all knew that anyway)... what will these next tributes be like? **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**

**Oh and a quick note just to say that I am currently running a new 24 author collaboration with MistMirror and Blue Eyes Arch Angel and we have some spaces left if anyone is interested in joining. There is a link to the forum on my profile, so please take a look and all the details are inside there. I hope many of you are interested, and if not yourself, then feel free to inform a friend! Thanks!**


	7. District Six Reapings

**A/N- Welcome back! So sorry for the late update, I have been sooo busy lately and I've had a ton of work to do, so I couldn't find a lot of time to write. I'm sorry for the wait, but here are our District Six tributes, wonderfully created by GreenPokeGuy and Lupus Overkill!**

* * *

Garry "Fen" Fender (16), District 6 Male POV

_Tap._

I'm drawn from my light sleep by the sound of gentle tapping on the glass of my bedroom window. I open my eyes slowly, cautious to introduce them back to the light, and I wipe away the moisture that acts like a blurred film over my sight.

_Tap. Tap._

With my eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown, I kick my legs out from under the duvet and slide out of bed, my feet cold against the bare wood as I walk over to the window. I pull aside the thin sheet used as a curtain and peer outside; through the dusty glass which is stained with droppings from passing birds. How they manage to aim their waste so that it hits windows is a mystery to me.

Just as I'm looking out of the window, a small stone comes hurtling towards the glass and my head jerks back in surprise. Muffled laughter sounds from below as I approach the window again and look down. Susie Gold stands outside my house, her long golden hair almost luminous in the limiting light and her eyes stare up at me like shining emeralds, glowing like the eyes of a cat. Susie and I have been friends for a few years now, but only recently have I realised that I'm in love with her.

Susie beckons me down, knowing not to shout up to me because she'd wake up my Mom, who needs as much sleep as she can get. I nod down to Susie and leave the window, quickly pulling on some proper clothes rather than the creased t-shirt and cotton pants that I wore to bed, before running down the stairs and out of the front door.

"What's up?" I ask Susie, feeling concerned. "It's barely morning."

"I know, isn't it great?!" She says gleefully, grabbing me by the arm. "C'mon."

Unaware of where we are going, I reluctantly allow Susie to pull me along as we run down the dusty path. Her grip on my arm is light, her fingers soft against my skin. We keep running until we reach the train station, a popular place for reckless teens to try daring stunts or for two teenagers to sit peacefully on the morning of the Reaping, which is exactly what Susie and I are doing now.

"Sit with me, Garry." Susie says, tapping her hand on the ground beside her. I do as she says and sit down, my legs hanging over the edge of the platform and my feet dangling dangerously close to the track. Normally I would feel nervous being this close to a train track, but I have nothing to fear because this is one of the old tracks which isn't used anymore, so the track has been turned off.

"So…" I break the silence between us. "Why did you wake me up so early to take me to an abandoned train track?"

Susie tilts her head backwards, gazing up at the dark sky. "I wanted you to watch the sunrise with me."

"Oh, okay." I reply, turning my gaze to the sky where I can see the top of the sun beginning to rise over the land, a fuzzy orange glow that will soon grow into a spectacular sunrise.

We sit quietly for the next few minutes, Susie's eyes set firmly on the sky ahead, whilst my eyes flicker over to her. I look at the smooth curve of her spine as she leans backwards and the way her hair falls down alongside it. And the way her green eyes are filled with such awe and wonder makes me feel warm inside, a little pleasant feeling that I wish I could hold onto forever.

As the sun begins to rise ever so slowly, I gradually creep my hand along the platform until my fingertips are millimetres away from Susie's. I want to reach out and take her hand, seize this beautiful moment, but something inside me holds me back. Maybe it's the fear of rejection; Susie seems to be oblivious to the fact that I'm in love with her and I'm certain she doesn't feel the same way, so I can't risk ruining our friendship over my own feelings. So instead of taking her hand, I decide otherwise and begin to retract my hand. However, I'm taken by surprise as Susie suddenly gasps with excitement and grabs my hand in her own.

"Wow, look at that!" She squeals in delight, pointing with her other hand towards the rising sun in the distance. "Isn't it amazing?!"

I tear my gaze from her to look at the sunrise and I almost gasp myself. It's a truly amazing sight, just as Susie said. The sun peaks up from horizon, sending the most vivid orange glow across the otherwise pale sky and basking the earth in a soft golden light that feels warm against my bare arms. The bright rays scatter across the vast expanse that stretches above us and it's as if we are alone, sitting beneath the ceiling of a golden pavilion. At least, that's what it feels like for me. But by the look of awe that is painted all over Susie's face, I can guess that she feels the same way.

After staring at the glorious sunrise for a few moments longer, Susie sighs in bliss and turns her head towards me, her green eyes alive and filled with pure happiness. But I cannot return her gaze with as much happiness as she shows to me. Because today is the Reaping; another reminder of my sister, Rose, who succumbed to the Games three years ago. She and I were always close; she was the typical caring older sister who liked to ruffle my hair and poke my arm, then pretend it was someone else. I'm past the crying over her, but I still miss her so much that some days I wake up and feel a hollow space where Rose used to be. And I know that space can never be filled again.

"It's ok, Garry." Susie says gently. "You don't have to pretend to be happy, I know what you must be thinking. I understand, I don't blame you."

"I'm fine, really." I assure her, even managing a weak smile. "I just miss her, that's all."

"Of course you do." She says, pulling me closer towards her. "It was horrid what happened, but things will get better."

"They will?"

She nods surely. "It's why I like to watch sunrises. They give me hope that things will get better."

It's as if the world has paused for a moment and Susie's words linger sweetly in the air between us. I clutch onto that sweetness, that flicker of hope and happiness, and I think, if people could store spoken words, I'd have a library filled with Susie's.

Tess Mercier (17), District 6 Female POV

I stare coldly into the mirror as I fasten the buttons of my blouse. It's a plain and simple grey, matched with a long black skirt that hangs just at the same level as my knees, leaving the rest of my legs exposed, which both seem to be substantially paler in colour when compared next to the ebony shade of my skirt. I'm not one in favour of fashion, I usually wear functional attire that is required for my job in one of the car factories, but on occasions such as the Reaping, it is expected to wear my best clothes. And so, my best clothes I must wear.

I reach for my comb and run it quickly through my short hair, bringing a little volume to the sides that had been flattened during my sleep. Once I'm satisfied that I appear presentable, I quietly leave my room and head to the kitchen for a brief breakfast before the Reaping begins.

When I walk into the room, I instantly pick up on how quiet it is. Not a single word is muttered as I take a mug from the table and fill it up with tea. My younger brother, Aran, looks up from his lap and flashes me a look of acknowledgment, showing that he notices my presence. Aran is thirteen, so four years younger than me, yet he stands over a head taller than me and makes no effort to stop reminding me that I'm lacking in height. However, I do not think 5"5 should be considered terribly short, but when compared to some of the near-giants in the District, I suppose I'm like a pixie to them.

"Tess." My mother walks over, her long fingers tapping on the side of her chipped mug. "Stand up so I can see what you're wearing."

I mentally roll my eyes, because if I did it for real then I'd only cause unnecessary tension, and reluctantly stand up. Mother gives me a sweeping glance, her critical eyes scanning over my outfit.

I'm almost certain that she'll insist for me to change, but when all she says is, "the black shoes with the strap should look nice with the skirt", I'm quite surprised.

"Um, ok." I mumble, gulping down the rest of my tea, which has gone lukewarm and tastes a little like tree sap (I think Mother wasn't kidding when she said she was making 'natural' tea). I quickly rinse the mug under the tap and place it in the sink, but as I'm leaving the kitchen, I bump into my Father coming in. Awkwardly standing in the doorway, I shuffle to one side so that he can move past and he doesn't say anything; just gives me a passive nod and heads inside.

Out in the hallway, I search for the black shoes my Mother recommended from the pile of work boots. I find them soon enough, but they're shoved at the back of the cupboard and have a stripe of dust across the front, showing just how long it was since I wore them last. Wiping off the dust, I slip them on and leave the house, closing the door silently on my way out.

I walk alone to the Reaping, I always do. Being with my parents tends to leave an awkward tension hanging in the air; one that I don't wish to deal with today. There isn't a particular reason why we act in this way, I guess it's just the way we all are: distant.

As I walk down the streets, I pass many houses with many different people leaving them, also on their way to face the most dreaded day of the year. Parents with children of eligible reaping age try to put on brave faces as they walk in states of silence, but I can see through their false expressions like they're made of glass. When they tell their children that _'you're name is only in there once, it won't be you'_, they really mean '_you're name is in there one too many times and I'm petrified that you'll be chosen'. _My parents never told Aran or me that; in fact, they did almost the opposite and pushed us into taking out tesserae. It's not that they want us to be Reaped and die, because despite their distant emotions, they do love us; it's just because we would struggle to get by if we didn't take it out. In a way, increasing our chances of dying in the Hunger Games has actually helped us to live better. It's ironic really.

"Tess!" I hear my name being called and I look around, spotting my friend Kiva.

I raise my hand in a wave and speed up my pace to reach her. Kiva and I met two years ago when I started working in the factory. She showed me how things worked in the factory and helped me to adjust to working life. She's a year older than me, so is still eligible reaping age, but she's like the older sister I never had.

"Hi, Kiva." I greet her. She walks beside me, her steps confident and unwavering.

"How are you?" Kiva asks, the usual serious tone to her voice is present.

I shrug. "Fine, I guess. And yourself?"

"Fine, yeah." She replies. "Are you nervous for the Reaping then?"

Again, I shrug. "My name is in there a lot; I've taken out tesserae, so my chances are pretty high. And you?"

"I suppose I am a little anxious." Kiva says honestly. "But it's my last year, so if I get past this then I'll be so relieved not to ever have to worry about it."

"What about family members or friends?" I point out. "They could still be reaped in the future."

Kiva narrows her eyes at me. "Don't be so pessimistic, Tess. You're always making it impossible for me to relax."

"How could you relax anyway?" I ask. "If you get through this Reaping without being chosen, it doesn't mean you're free from the Games forever, you know. And if it isn't the Games you're worrying about, it will be trying to earn enough to get by in life."

"You really know how to bring the mood down, don't you?" Kiva says, the tone of her voice is ever so slightly sharp, so I can tell that she was a little annoyed with what I said. But it's the truth and she needs to face it.

"Well it's not _my_ fault, is it?" I retort, but before Kiva can reply, my other close friend, Martin, runs over to us.

"What's not Tess' fault?" He asks, a curious gleam to his brown eyes. "Let me guess, she—"

"It doesn't matter." I cut him off, not wanting to go into the details. "Come on, we need to sign in."

We walk over to the desks and in turn, sign in. Because Martin is a boy and Kiva and I are both different ages, we are all split up as we stand ready for the Reaping to begin. I stand amongst other seventeen year old girls with my arms folded across my chest and my gaze firmly set on the stage ahead. The quiet chattering amongst the other girls soon dies away as the Capitol theme begins to play and the escort strides flamboyantly onto the stage.

Once the speeches are over, the Reaping begins and the escort walks over to the glass bowl, flexing his fingers around until he picks a slip of paper and returns to the microphone.

"And the female tribute representing District Six in the Forty-Fourth Hunger Games is… Tess Mercier!"

I freeze for a moment, my name echoing in my ears. Me?

Most of the girls around exchange sighs of relief as they haven't been chosen, but I glance around nervously, wondering what to do next. I'm not a well-known girl, so maybe if I sneaked off, no-one would notice. So as casually as I can, I edge my way through the girls in order to escape and make a run for it. However, as soon as I start to break out into a sprint, a heavy hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back. A Peacekeeper.

"Tess Mercier?" He says, looking at me coldly.

I contemplate saying _no, I'm not her_, but it's so obvious that it is me and _someone_ is bound to recognise me sooner or later, so I have to give up and nod.

As I'm escorted up to the stage, I try testing the strength of the Peacekeeper's grip by attempting to slip away, but his hand is firmly glued to my shoulder, so I submit to his force and allow myself to be paraded up to the stage. I'm finally let go as I stand on stage beside the escort, but I resist the urge to try and run again, instead concentrating on appearing completely and utterly calm and confident. Which is pretty difficult when inside I'm feeling the complete opposite.

Garry "Fen" Fender (16), District 6 Male POV

After watching the sunrise, Susie and I went back to my house to get ready for the Reaping. She was chatting with Maya, one of the girls from the orphanage that my Mum works for and who pretty much lives at our house now, whilst I was getting washed, but now we are walking together on our way to the Reaping.

Mum and Maya walk just ahead of Susie and I, their hands locked in a tight grip. I love the way they are so close, it gives Mum something to feel optimistic about after Rose's death in the Hunger Games. It was such a blow to her, so unexpected, and at one stage I was scared to sleep at night for the fear that my Mum would end her life; she seemed so lost in grief and depression, it must have crossed her mind at some point. And with her husband, my Dad, already dead and gone, I guess losing another family member almost destroyed her entirely. My Dad died when I was young, but I can still remember him, though the memories are faint and sometimes bits are missed out where time has had its effect. However, his death wasn't so ordinary as most of the deaths in the District, his was quite a different story. And a story that I'm involved heavily in.

"We're here." Susie says, tugging on my arm. "You were daydreaming, are you ok?"

"Oh, I'm fine." I say, snapping out from my hazy cloud of thoughts. "Should we sign in?"

Susie nods and goes to stand at the back of the queue, whilst I say goodbye to my Mum and Maya.

"I'll see you later." I say, giving my Mum a quick hug. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

She nods, though I can see the tears welling up in her eyes as she has to let me go. I flash her a comforting smile and ruffle Maya's hair, earning myself a tight hug from the girl. She only reaches halfway up my torso, so she buries her head into my stomach. I stroke her hair fondly, before slowly pulling her arms from around my waist.

"I won't be long, I promise." I say to her. She nods obediently and goes to stand beside my Mum, her green eyes following me as I walk over to sign in. Once signed in, I go to stand in my allocated row, along with the other sixteen year old boys. I can see Susie from where I'm standing and she smiles at me warmly. I smile back, then turn to watch as the Reaping begins.

The girl is reaped first, someone I'm not familiar with, Tess Mercier. A Peacekeeper has to march her up to the stage because she tried to run away. I've seen others doing that before, but they never get away. No-one can ever escape from the Games.

As the escort walks over to the second glass bowl, I reach for the collar of my shirt and try pulling it away from my neck; it's too tight and when I swallow, I feel as if I'm being strangled. I'm distracted, fiddling with the collar, but the sudden announcement of my name grabs my attention.

I've been reaped.

I start to walk slowly up to the stage, my legs moving robotically as my mind is frozen in a state of shock. Heads turn to watch me as I approach the stage and I can feel Susie's vivid green eyes watching me too. A tear leaves my eye, trickling down my cheek, but I hastily wipe it away. I cannot appear weak, I must try to look brave. If not for myself, but for Rose. One Fender child has died in the Games, but I won't let that become two.

* * *

**A/N- So, thoughts on these two tributes? I must say, I really enjoyed writing for these tributes! It was nice to write about a genuine and lovely guy like Garry, and I found it interested to write for a more emotionally distant character like Tess. Both fairly different tributes in this district, so I wonder how they'll get on...**

**Let me know what you thought about these tributes, I'd love to know! Thanks to those who submitted them, I hope I did them justice!**

**District Seven coming up next, I wonder what these next two will bring to the Games...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx**

**One last message just to quickly say that my 24-author collaboration is still open for new authors. We have a very exciting twist to these Games, which we will be announcing as soon as we have all of the authors necessary. Believe me, it is going to be an absolutely amazing collaboration, so please apply to join us! You won't regret it...hehe :P The link for the forum is on my profile page, so go and check it out!**


	8. District Seven Reapings

**A/N- Hurrah, I have updated quicker than last time, whoop! District Seven now, with two great tributes submitted by Rebirth of a Demented Kitten and In-My-Head-749!**

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Delany "Laney" Ares (15), District 7 Male POV

The house is silent. Always is. And probably always will be.

As I slide my long, thin and rather lanky arms into my dark brown suit, I frown at my reflection in the cracked mirror. Incredibly pale skin that's on the verge of being translucent, almost like a window to the deep blue veins that run beneath it, and spiked hair almost the colour of snow. Put that pale complexion alongside my forest green eyes and you have yourself, one could say, a sight to be seen. You would think that with a striking appearance like my own, I'd be a noticeable figure, one most people remember. Yet when the truth is pinned down, I'm just another background extra.

With a heavy sigh, I pull the rest of my suit jacket on and turn away from the mirror. Seven years bad luck for cracking a mirror, they say. It's been six years since I broke that mirror and I've had nothing but 'bad luck', so perhaps this will be my final year before things start to get a little better in my life. Maybe, maybe not. I guess I'll have to be patient to find out, which is something I can easily be. The only issue I have with this is that I'm so used to a grim life, that maybe I'm not ready for change. Maybe I won't be ready once these seven years are up. Maybe I'll never be ready.

The sound of my footsteps on the stairs echoes emptily around the house, before being absorbed by the thick wood that structures this house in the slums of District Seven. I've grown up in the slums all my life, so I'm used to the poor conditions and weakly built houses that tremble and quiver during summer storms and swell in the dampness of winter. Yet I still cling onto the hope that one day I will climb from the bottom of the ladder to maybe the rank higher where the quality of life is still pretty bleak, but tolerable. And maybe, just maybe, one day I'll walk the halls of the Victors' Village for myself, instead of watching from the side-lines. Some days I consider the possibility of volunteering for the Hunger Games, but then I look at the other Victors and see how the Games have changed them, modelled them into something they aren't, something the Capitol want them to be. So then I change my mind and dismiss the thought. If I went into the Games, I know that the only way I'd survive is to change who I am and that is one thing, if not the only thing, that I'm afraid of.

My bare feet pad along the wooden floor as I walk into the main room. In our house, as it is so small, there is only one room downstairs which acts as a lounge, kitchen and dining area all at the same time. It's only upstairs that is split into two tiny box-like bedrooms and one very basic bathroom which doesn't even have a shower facility; we have to bathe in the large metal tub which can be very awkward at times seeing that I'm pretty tall; my legs are always squashed up against the cold sides of the tub, whilst my arms usually end up hanging over the edges.

I don't notice my Father until I'm halfway across the room. He's sitting in his chair; a large and patchy arm chair that is decorated with small holes where moths have had a midnight feast. It's an old chair, here before I was even born, yet my Father refuses to get rid of it…not that we could afford a new one anyway.

He sits with his head swung low, his forehead almost reaching his knees. From under the shadows that have been cast over his face, I can see the dark circles that surround his eyes; a marking from the deprivation of sleep, something he hasn't had enough of in the last five years of his life since his wife, my Mother, died. Her death, caused by starvation which she kept strictly as a secret with herself only, shattered my Father's heart; mine as well. She was such a lovely and selfless woman, so much so that she kept her starvation hidden from everyone else to avoid any fuss or worry. At first I refused to accept it, called her selfish because she died and left me, but now that I'm a few years older I realise that if she hadn't have done what she did, then I would likely be dead instead.

I may not have gotten over her death yet, but at least I am no longer dwelling in my sorrows anymore, which cannot be said for my Father. Five long years of living with a depressed man is difficult, but I love him and it's what I have to do. He would have done the same for me. Yet I still have those days when all I want is to yell in his face and tell him to get on with his life. But of course, I never say those words out loud.

"It's the Reaping today, Father." I say to him quietly, disturbing the silence that usually hangs over the house.

He says nothing at all, he doesn't even nod his head or anything. He simply does nothing.

"My name is in the reaping bowl quite a few times." I continue, hoping to gain some form of response; a simple nod would satisfy me. Yet I still get nothing from him.

Sighing, I lift up the lid of the pot that hangs over the fire pit and peek inside, hoping to find some leftovers that I can eat as a bit of breakfast. However, when I find it to be completely empty, not even a drop of soup or stew or anything else you can cook in a pot, I slam the lid back on and turn sharply away from it. I glance over to the small clock that is precariously balanced on the windowsill and see that I only have twenty minutes until the Reaping begins. A curse slips from my lips as I race to the door, shoving my feet into my worn out shoes as I open the door. Living in the slums means that I'm far from the main part of the District where the Reaping is held, so if I'm going to get there on time, I'm going to need to run, which is one thing I am not particularly good at.

As I step outside the door, I take on last look at my Father and shake my head when I see that he hasn't moved a single inch. A part of me wants to rush back in there and talk to him until he replies, but the rest of me knows that it's best just to leave him. After all, grief is a difficult obstacle to clear and can only be healed with time. And time is definitely something I don't have much of at this moment.

Tayala Billies (16), District 7 Female POV

The cold and hard eyes of my parents stare at me with such a fierce intensity that I almost feel intimidated by them, as if I'm a small child again who has been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. I almost feel the guilt swelling up inside me, though I know I've committed no sin. Well, no sin to them directly. And yet standing just metres away from them I can feel that overpowering look of disconcertment; one that is bare of any form of love, and one that I have experienced so many times in my past. But I'm not going to let them win again. So I send the knife that is so carefully balanced in my hand straight into the forehead of my Mother, followed by a second one dead-centre of my Father's face.

I walk slowly over, my pace so casual, but my hands are balled up in tight fists that send a dull strain down to my wrist. The blades of the knives remain stuck in their targets, the tips buried deep where I threw them with such a strong force; but the handles stick out freely and wait for my hands to grab them, ready to go for round two. I grip the knives firmly and give them a swift pull, yanking them free and sending the pictures of my parents floating gently to the ground, where I promptly stamp on them until they're reduced to a crumpled mess.

With the first round done, I take the next picture and pin it to the tree trunk. The undermining and callous face of the President stares back at me this time and I already feel my heart rate increasing as my hatred for the Capitol resurfaces. I take the knife in my hand and raise my arm, ready to flick my wrist and—

"STOP!"

I immediately lower my arm and turn sharply on my heels, scowling. My two friends, Gilze and Davian, appear from amongst the trees, both their faces painted with both shock and worry.

"What are you doing?" I ask them, folding my arms across my chest.

"We could ask you the same question." Gilze says, her hands poised on her hips. "What on earth do you think you're doing?!"

I glance at the picture of the President that is still pinned to the tree, then look back to Gilze. "I was practising my knife throwing, can't you tell?"

"Of course I can tell." She replies. "But that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" I ask casually. "Care to enlighten me?"

Gilze rolls her eyes; she isn't fond of my sarcasm all of the time. "You know damn well what I meant."

"What's so bad about practising knife throwing?" I say. "Surely it's a good thing, right? It would certainly help if I was ever reaped for the Hunger Games."

"Not if you were practising throwing knives at the _President!_" Gilze exclaims. "How would that help, eh? Think the Gamemakers would appreciate you imitating murdering the President? Well I can tell you that they would _not_. No, they'd probably _kill_ _you_ with the first chance they get."

I roll my eyes. "Oh come on, don't exaggerate like that. They can't even see me here, so it's not like they'd know…"

"You don't know that!" Gilze retorts. "It's the _Reaping_ today! Peacekeepers are _everywhere! _In fact, they're probably watching us right now, waiting to leap out and arrest- no, _kill_ us!"

I open my mouth to yell back, but Davian steps between us, stopping me.

"Calm down, you two." He says, being the voice of reason that he always is. "Today's not the day for arguments, ok?"

"But she—",Gilze starts.

"No interrupting, Gilze." Davian says. "I agree, it was a stupid idea to try and throw knives at a picture of the President, especially today, but there is no need to make a huge argument out of it, is there?"

Gilze bites her lower lip, realising that he was right. "I'm sorry, I was just worried, ok? I always get a little edgy on Reaping day and I just panicked. Sorry, Tayala."

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly give in. "I'm sorry too…"

Davian makes a sound of relief and mockingly wipes his brow. "A second rebellion avoided, thank goodness. Now, let's see if we can get to the Reaping without running into any more problems. That isn't too difficult for you, is it Tayala?"

I roll my eyes again. "You make me sound like I'm constantly in trouble…"

Davian laughs. "That's because you are- well, almost, if it weren't for Gilze and I always getting you out of trouble."

"Aw, my knights in shining armour." I say sarcastically, a smirk growing on my lips.

Davian steps closer, his arms circling around my waist. "But you're worth saving. Definitely worth it."

As he leans his head in to kiss me, Gilze gives a yelp. "Ew, if you guys are gonna kiss, I'm turning around right now!"

I peer over Davian's shoulder and flash a quick smirk to Gilze. "Turn around then."

* * *

As we reach the Reaping, Davian and I immediately pull out hands apart. I'm not embarrassed of Davian, he's a pretty good-looking guy and has a heart of gold (quite the opposite of me, actually), but I just don't like the idea of everyone knowing about our relationship. It's not a really serious relationship either, we've only been dating for a few months, but I still don't like the thought of broadcasting it to the entire District. Only Davian, Gilze and I know about it and I intend to keep it that way, at least for a while longer.

After signing in, we say goodbye to Davian and walk over to our appropriate section: with the other sixteen year old girls.

"You know, Tayala," Gilze speaks to me in a low whisper. "I still can't get used to you and Davian being…together."

I flash my eyes at her sharply, a warning that this topic is off-limits in public. However, she simply ignores it and carries on.

"I mean, you're my best friends, so it doesn't feel normal." She says. "It's just, I dunno, _weird_?"

Just as I open my mouth to tell her to shut hers, I'm stopped by the sound of the Capitol anthem and the entrance of our escort, whose balance is all over the place in her six-inch heels.

"Welcome to the Forty-Fourth Hunger Games, District Seven!" She greets us with a glowing smile to her overly made-up face. "I am so excited for these Games, aren't you?"

The crowd is silent.

"We're all a bit quiet today, aren't we?" The escort seems mildly disappointed in our lack of enthusiasm, but what else should she expect? The Hunger Games are a vile and inhumane concoction designed by a bunch of snobby idiots, so there is nothing to be excited about.

"Oh well, let's begin with the girls, shall we?" She continues, tottering over to the first bowl. With her long fingers topped with acrylic fake nails, she roots through the mountain of paper slips and eventually plucks one out, taking it with her back to the microphone that stands centre stage.

"And our representative female is… Tayala Billies!"

Beside me, Gilze gasps, but I keep myself composed as I walk up to the stage. I'm a little startled because despite my knife throwing practise, I never actually believed that I would be reaped, but I know there is nothing to be done about it.

So as I climb the stairs and stand beside the escort, I decide one thing: I have to win these Games.

Delaney "Laney" Ares (15), District 7 Male POV

I reach the Reaping just in time, racing to the back of the almost non-existent queue and signing in as quickly as possible. I then jog over to the rest of the boys, ready to stand with the other fifteen year old boys, but then I spot my friend Rowan and decide to slip in next to him instead. Rowan is seventeen, so two years older than me, but because of my height, I blend in easily with the older boys.

"Laney, forgive me if I'm incorrect," Rowan says to me, his beautiful grey eyes looking into mine. "but shouldn't you be with the fifteen year olds?"

I press my finger to my lips, as if saying 'it's a secret'. Rowan raises his eyebrows sceptically and shakes his head in disapproval. "You know, if you get caught, I'm not covering for you."

"You won't have to." I reply. _No-one ever notices me, I'm invisible, so I won't get caught, _I think to myself, but not daring to say the words out loud.

"Ugh, Delilah is driving me insane." Rowan complains, rolling his eyes. "She keeps going on about having dinner with her parent, but I really don't give a fuck about her family, you know what I mean?"

I shrug. "Have you told her?"

Rowan shakes his head. "Nah, I haven't got round to it yet."

That's the one thing that bothers me about Rowan; where he may be very handsome with his dark brown hair and gentle grey eyes, he is a pain when it comes to dealing with things in life. He is constantly complaining about almost everything, but never actually does anything about it. Yet despite his obvious laziness, I still admire him as a friend. And I suppose you could say that I have a small crush on him, which of course he is completely oblivious to because I know his preference lies in the womanly category only and not the weird, anti-social, invisible guys like me.

We say no more because the Reaping begins. I watch as the girl is reaped, Tayala, and she seems pretty self-confident as she stands looking determined and proud on the stage. She has a slight look of defiance in the way that she composes herself, but she seems pretty calm overall.

Then it's the boys turn. I watch the escort pluck a slip from the bowl and return to the microphone.

"And our male representative is Delaney Ares!"

I stand still for a moment, my name echoes from the speakers, forcing it to repeat in my ears. I stay frozen to the spot I'm standing in as I feel moisture building up in my eyes before it breaks into streams of tears that trickle down my face, dampening the pale skin on my face. But as I start to cry, my sobs are twisted into a ripple of laughter that I am unable to control. I feel my knees start to shake and I let myself fall to the floor, my hands wrapping tightly around my stomach as I sink down lower, a mixture of sobs and laughter escaping my mouth.

But as the astonished faces continue to stare down at the crumpled heap that is my body, all I can do is realise that for the first time in years, I'm actually being noticed. I actually exist.

* * *

**A/N- Aww, poor Laney, that was a pretty extreme reaction... Imagine both crying and laughing at the same time? I don't think it would be a very pleasant experience... What did you think of Laney? Do you feel sorry for him because of his tough-dealings in life? Or do you think he needs to just accept change in order to survive?**

**And for Tayala, what did you think of her? She certainly doesn't like the Games, but will she be defiant and speak out against them in the Games? Or do you think she'll be able to control her thoughts and keep quiet?**

**Thanks for all the support so far, you've been great! A big thanks to those who have submitted, I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes, I felt an easy flow as soon as I started writing! Please continue to read and review this story so I know what you are all thinking!**

**District Eight will be coming soon... What will these tributes be like?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


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